Drew's Mediterranean Voyage!!!

Staying in Touch

2011-06-13T00:28:00.000-07:00

I'd love to get mail. Always a nice surprise to get something in port. Addresses and timelines for sending letters is on the page below. If you send me your address (via my email address) I may just surprise you with a postcard. Hope to get some correspondence.

Packing Insanity

2011-06-12T14:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I managed to pass my dissertation proposal on Friday morning. Begged the doctor for a prescription to help with my epic case of poison ivy, and have been running around town trying to get my crap together before I head to the airport at 0400 tomorrow. (I'm back to using nautical time). I know I'm not mentally prepared for this journey yet b/c I haven't had a chance to take a breath. I guess that's what Tuesday will be for. A day of rest, reflection, and relaxation before I jump into SAS yet again.

Time to get back to sorting through all my stuff and deciding what to bring, what not to bring, and all the little things I know I'm forgetting. (like my camera, which I just remembered. Phew!). Bye Austin. See you in September!

P.S. For those of you whop want to follow my travels. Check out the map below of where I'll be sailing.

One week away!!

2011-06-06T12:49:00.000-07:00

In one short week I will be flying out to Nassau, Bahamas for my one day of relaxation before boarding the MV Explorer one again for another adventure. Having spent the last three months getting to know my fellow Student Life Team members via Facebook, I'm excited to meet everyone and get rolling on the high seas.

Before I board the plane, I have a few tiny hurdles. First, my dissertation proposal meeting on Friday has my stomach in knots. I also have to get some paperwork finished for my campus job, and get most of my IRB application finished for my dissertation study. Oh yea... and somewhere in the midst of all this, I need to think about packing too. Phew!

Japan to San Diego Happenings

2007-05-13T22:15:00.000-07:00

Well, we’re less than 10 hours out of San Diego. In fact, we’re back in the same time zone as California and Arizona. After traveling around the world, THAT’s hard to believe. I’m not too excited about that, but I am trying to keep a stiff upper lip. But before I get all sappy and reflective (too late) I am going to do an entry updating on all the big ship activities since we left Japan.

The first big event was the Day of Silence. My Diversity Programming Committee led this shipwide event. It was related to Days of Silence that are held on campuses across the country, but we broadened the definition. Normally, the event is held in solidarity with the LGBT community in order to shed light on those whose voices are silenced because they cannot be open about their sexuality. However, we changed things and asked people to be socially silent in respect to the people we have seen around the world whose voices have been silenced by political and social oppression. We specifically referenced people of color in Brazil and South Africa, Women in India and other Ssian nations, and religious minorities and LGBT people in various nations all over the world. When I proposed toe idea, there were many people, especially faculty, who did not think that it was a good idea to have a program that prohibited people from talking or engaging socially. A few of them feared this would be another divisive program like the Apartheid Day Simulation, even though I discussed with many people that this was about reflection, and not division. I tried a different tactic and recruited faculty input, asked them to participate, suggested ways they could discuss it in their classes… etc. Ultimately, the program was a success. We had hundreds of people take information, and at least 300 people took the badges to wear on the day itself, though many fewer were actually silent for the day. I think it was a visible success since many of the more public people in our community took part. So while many people chose not to participate, they still felt the impact of the silence of their peers. Go team!

Next was the Ambassador’s Ball. For those of you who don’t know, this is sort of like our end of voyage Prom, only the money goes to charity. The whole ship gets decked out in their new suits and dresses from Vietnam, or haute couture from Japan (for those who could afford it – not me). They meal served is exquisite and very gourmet, there are lavish decorations, and photographs everywhere, and amazing desserts served on the 7th deck. We also had live music, and a champagne toast at midnight. It was a heavenly evening. I was especially glad b/c there were a group of three tables right near each other with all my staff friends and RD colleagues. So we had a grand old time, and got to enjoy a little pre partying and post partying without students in the staff area of the ship. I do so love being able to escape and have some “adult” time. Part of the fun of the ball, is that I felt like a bit of a celebrity. The students kept asking to take pictures with me, and with some of the other RD’s and staff members, like Dia the Registrar. I think people are trying to get a record of as many people as they can before the voyage comes to an end. I was always willing to pose and flash my pearly whites. I made corsages out of paper for each of the women on the Student Life Team. Mrs. Rigoli would be so proud that I remembered how to do it some 20 years after being in her elementary school Spanish class.

The next big event was a series that the LGBT group on the ship facilitated. We had “Sea The Pride!” LGB Days at Sea. It was a three day series on the days around Honolulu where we worked to educate the community on issues that face LGBT people, and gave folks tips on how to be effective allies. My LGBTA group is full of well meaning, and enthusiastic people, but they are also big idea people and not always big follow through folks. A couple days before the series was supposed to start, they wanted to scrap major sections of it. In the end, all the elements remained and were incredibly successful. It was a real testament to our community and made the LBG folks on board very proud. The first day had a Gender Bender theme, and folks were invited to play with gender stereotypes with their dress. We even had a gender bender theme with the AFTer Hours alcohol service and a number of people attended in drag. It got quite a laugh. At the same time we had tables near the dining rooms where folks were invited to take and wear rainbow ribbons to identify themselves as allies, and to fill out colorful cards giving their definitions of love. Finally, on that first day, we had a “Speak Out” panel with out gays and lesbians from the student body, staff, and faculty, and allies and family members answering questions and sharing their lives with the community. I was really glad to be a part of that panel, and got a lot of great feedback about what I said and how it affected people. The LGBTA folks were so pleased with the panel b/c when it started there were only about 6 or so people in the Union to participate, but after about 15 minutes we had about 40 people present, and by the time 30 minutes had gone by, there were a good 100+ people in the audience really listening. I was so proud of them, and it made them all feel really supported. The second day of the series had a Same-Sex Hand Holding theme. We invited folks on board to display affection with people of the same sex, be they friends, family members, or loved ones. Not many people engaged in this activity, however some of the faculty members did, and it definitely had the community talking. We continued with the table programs, and finished the evening with a big Drag Show Blowout in the evening directly after the Cultural and Logistical Pre-Port for Hawaii. Everyone was worried about this event, b/c as dinner started 2 hours earlier we had only 1 act for the show. However, everything just came together, and the show was a HUGE success. I’ve heard that on past voyages, men in drag is a big theme running through out the voyage. The Sea Olympics, AFTer Hours events, Talent Shows. Supposedly, these are all events that normally have the men n board dressing in drag, for fun, on a regular basis. But that was not the case with our voyage. We hadn’t seen that kind of fun gender bending in our community before our event, and that worried us about the prospects of finding acts outside of the LGB people planning the event. In the end, we had plenty of acts to fill a 2 hour performance. I don’t think the Union has ever been as packed before, and what’s more, everyone was SO into the show. They cheered on their friends and sang along, or got up and danced in the aisles. The acts were a great collection of gay and lesbian students, straight allies (including some of our most eligible male bachelor students). We even had one of our faculty member’s go in drag with her entire family, husband and two daughters included. Dan Cristie, our Global Studies Professor, was in drag for the show… it was a remarkable event. I was particularly pleased with our two student emcees. I wasn’t very excited about the prospect of hosting, and I didn’t really want to “do” drag. I ended up going about half way and wore a sarong and a flower in my hair (as an homage to Hawaii) but that was it. Prof. Biana Cody Murphy and I set up the show and then passed it off to the emcees. Bianca did a great job framing the show and explaining to everyone present that drag is not about gay men seeing themselves as women, or lesbians seeing themselves as men. It’s really about playing with gender stereotypes. We mess with social norms every day as a function of loving people of the same sex, so this is a way to do it in a tongue-in-cheek kind of way. It was great to be able to point to our straight allies in the show as examples of that very fact. The highlight of the entire show was one of our work study students, Roberto. Roberto is a great dancer, who joins us from Puerto Rico. He did a number dressed as Chakira, and he was the prettiest man anyone has seen in a while, and when he started to dance and move his hips, the crowd went wild. He was an amazing (and provocative) dancer. His girlfriend, Mary, was also in drag and dressed like the rapper who sings on the track. The two of them did this whole routine that ended in a very passionate kiss. I gotta tell you, after seeing a handful of drag shows in my day, this number would have put them all to shame. The Drag Show turned out to be such a huge success, and so big in the scheme of the voyage, that when we had our end of voyage slide show, it was given its own category and a fair amount of coverage. The final day of the series had an Ally Development theme, and saw more tabling. We took all the “definitions of love” and posted them in Purser’s Square in a giant rainbow under the banner “Love is not just 1 man + 1 woman – What’s Your Definition of Love?” It was pretty powerful, and a lot of people spent time looking it over. We ended the whole series with a showing of the movie The Laramie Project with a discussion following. Every event was well attended by people who were involved and invested. I have to admit, I didn’t think the entire community would get behind the events, but they did. I was so proud of the folks in the LGBTA @ Sea. Many of them come from campuses that are religiously affiliated and they are the only out people on campus, or from places that are just so conservative that they are not able to find a community. Finding one on Semester at Sea has helped many of them feel more confident about themselves. The opposite was often true for our People of Color, who mainly came from campuses where there were significantly larger populations of people of color. I’m still proud of the community that they built here on the MV Explorer. Can you tell that I am feeling reflective? Geez… I’m such a sap.

I volunteered to facilitate a day in honor of those who died in the tragedy at Virginia Tech, which was held after we left Hawaii. We asked people to wear orange or maroon, Va Tech’s school colors, or black and I posted the names of the victims in Purser’s Square. I regularly saw people stopping and staring at the long list of names… it was a solemn day indeed.

As we moved towards the end of the voyage we’ve has a long string of happy events as well. We held a final Pre-Port meeting where we discussed disembarkation in San Diego. My friend RD Mindy and I created a humorous presentation orienting everyone to the U.S. (“or as we call it in our homeland ‘A-MER-i-ca’”). We taught them how to use regular western toilets, what food they should try out, and what etiquette they should use to fit in (none at all!). The funniest part was teaching them common phrases we use in A-MER-i-ca. We had Ron, “the Voice” saying the phrases for them to learn. The man is SO deadpan, and got this intense expression on his face as he said expressions like “fo shizzle,” and “I’m down with that,” and my favorite “peace out, my brother.” People were crying they were laughing so hard, but Ron never cracked a smile. It was perfect. The strangest part for all of us was when we did a “Pop Culture Catch-Up” where RDs Stephanie Sue and Lesley let us know about what has been happening back in the US while we’ve been gone. The weirdest parts were hearing the top movies and songs right now, especially since none of us have heard of any of them. Disturbia? Fracture? These are movies? Sheesh!

Tonight was the last event of the voyage, Convocation. The staff and faculty led the graduates into the Union. They all wore conical rice hats from Vietnam and looked quite proud of themselves (as they should be). We toasted our accomplishments, and our graduates. We laughed at our collective foibles. We mused over how far we’ve traveled, and how much we’ve grown. I reaffirmed that I am an emotional sap as I was on the verge of tears almost the entire time, but I did manage to avoid a full on cry. It’s scary to realize that this voyage really is almost done. I spent 200 days applying, and interviewing, and anticipating this voyage. I spent 100 days enjoying, and participating on the voyage. What comes next? What happens after 300 days of focus? I wish I had an answer to that question. I know it will all be weighing heavily on my mind as I bid my residents a farewell when they step off the gangway tomorrow morning. Since they won the Sea Olympics, they have the honor of disembarking first. I’m not ready for them to go… hell, I’M not ready to go. But nonetheless, we will leave tomorrow.

Like I said at the start, I’ll save my reflections for later. Right now, the students are downstairs in the Union having their last dance. I doubt any of them will sleep tonight. The faculty and staff are here in the F/S Lounge sharing all open bottles of beverage and open packages of food we can’t off load, enjoying one another’s company. I doubt any of us will sleep tonight either. But for now, I’m going to enjoy my last few hours, and make start processing when I am home in my Irvine bed tomorrow.

Until then,
XOXO
-Drew

Aloha Hawaii

2007-05-09T07:21:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the islands of aloha! After 8 days at sea, land was a very welcome sight. It was also nice to be able to turn on my cell phone and have it find a signal and dial up the family. It almost seems unfair that we only got 14 hours off the ship to enjoy a place that people try so hard to visit for weeks at a time. But, we all made the most of it. Everyone was itching to get off the ship as quickly as possible, and the different student seas were vying for the privilege to be the first off the ship once we cleared immigration. The contest centered around which sea could sign up the most people to join “The Shipmate Program,” the alumni organization for Semester at Sea. True to form, the Aegean Sea was very competitive, and came in 3rd when 93% of our group signed up. Turtle Power. This meant that my kiddos were off the ship by about 8:30am, and had plenty of time to enjoy the island. Me and the other staff folks all agreed we would go off with the Faculty/Staff Team in whatever order they finished. Little did we know that the F/S group would finish dead last. Ugh! Luckily we were still off the ship by about 9:45am

I’ve heard so many nice things about Hawaii from all the folks at UCI who come from HI, and from my RD friend, Lesley, who lives on Oahu and gushes about her home state whenever the opportunity arises. Our Logistical and Cultural Pre-Ports also got me really excited with conversations about the Polynesian influence, the cuisine, the traditions, the language. I was psyched for my 14 hours in paradise. During our pre-port a group of the women on the ship presented a traditional hula dance, and a group of men learned a Haka dance and performed that as well. The Haka is actually a tradition from New Zealand and the islands of the South Pacific, but was an interesting Polynesian cultural tradition to see. Our Kiwi Professor, Simon Nicholson, taught the guys the dance. Very cool indeed.
One of the coolest things about our time in Hawaii was that a big group of 15 of us were all going to travel around the island with Lesley and her fiancé Matt. They had planned a whole Oahu itinerary that was special and chock full of fun times. Lesley has been missing Matt a LOT during the voyage. I think she started a countdown to Hawaii when we got to South Africa! It was so cute to see them together. We began our island adventure by driving out of Honolulu to the windward side of the island where the two of them live. On the way over the mountains, we stopped at a popular look out and saw some amazing views, and learned about the battle that took place there when King Kamehameha united the island chain and became the first king of the Hawaiian islands. We then went to Lesley’s hometown of Kailua and stopped at the bank and then her favorite coffee shop, Morning Brew. After we all got our lunch/coffee fixes we headed out to the beach where we got in tandem kayaks and rowed out to the Mokulua Islands. The Moks are only a bit off shore, maybe 20 minutes of hard kayaking. The water was crystal clear and a bright blue/green color. It was so beautiful, even more so than in Mauritius. Beth and I shared a kayak, b/c Beth was worried about falling out, and since I’m a strong swimmer she made me promise I would save her life if we tipped over. I love Beth, and I know she wanted to pull her weight as we rowed out to the island. I never let on that I was doing almost all the work. She did, after all, provide some great conversation, ad took the brunt of most of the waves as we rolled over some pretty big swells.

Along the way, as we were rowing, I felt a sharp pain on my arm and looked down to see a blue tentacle wrapped around my arm. It turns out that my oar had whipped a Portuguese Man-a-War up out of the water and around my arm. It stung SO badly, but since we were in the middle of the water I had to push through and get us to the island. The man-a-war actually landed in the kayak, and I spent a good two minutes just trying to flick it out, while my arm was burning, trying not to get stung even worse. It was a comedy display I’m sure, since Beth, who was sitting in front of me, couldn’t turn around to see what was happening. Once we got to the shore, I immediately ran around a bend in the beach to deal with the sting. The best thing to do to ease a jellyfish sting is to put urine on it, so I went and pee’d all over my arm. Darn good thing I had to go to the bathroom, or else I would have had to ask for volunteers. Luckily the pain eased after that, even though the sting left a big welt on my arm for a couple days.

When we arrived on the island, we found a big stick in the sand, and an X made out of stones. Matt told us a host story about Hawaiian pirates and had us dig under the stones to find the “buried treasure.” The treasure turned out to be a cooler filled with beer, fruit juices, and pineapples. After our beverages, we hiked around the tiny islands and snorkled in the clear water. It was a nice morning. After a couple hours we rowed back across the water to Oahu and returned the kayaks to the rental agency. That’s when everything took a turn for the worse.

We returned to the van to discover that while we were on Mokulua, some people broke into the borrowed van, a church van no less, and stolen all of our valuables. People had cameras, passports, and other things stolen. I lost my Drivers; License, my Credit Card, my ATM card, my health insurance card, my shipboard ID, and $380 I had taken out of the bank to clear my debts with folks on the ship. I was so frustrated I wanted to cry. I know we all felt that way, and I did take heart in the fact that I wasn’t the only one who was upset, but I felt so disconcerted and victimized. We called the police and filed a report, but since there were a lot of thefts, especially in that area, they weren’t very hopeful that anyone would ever figure out who had done it. None of us could believe it, especially not Matt or Lesley. I can’t believe that I traveled around the world. Was traveling in countries like Brazil, South Africa, Vietnam, and India and never once had an issue with theft of any kind… but that in Hawaii, in the UNITED friggin’ STATES I became a victim. Even now, typing up about it, I am pissed off all over again. It’s almost as if my homecoming was a big “screw you” making me want to turn around and go the other way, rather than return to the states. Grrrr. Ok, sorry, I just had to let off some steam. Anyways, we returned to the ship and got cleaned up. I was moping around, unsure what to do with myself. All my plans for the afternoon had suddenly disappeared. I could no longer buy souvenirs, or go get good Hawaiian food like the Spam Musubi I had been waiting for. Eventually, my friend Dia convinced a bunch of us to go into the mall area near the pier and let her buy us dinner. It was really nice of her. After dinner, a few folks went to Walmart to buy some souvenirs, but I wasn’t really feeling it, so I window shopped a bit, sat down with a couple older staff members who were having a drink in one of the bars nearby, and then returned to the ship and welcomed the students back for the last time. It was a sad night.

You know, I was so prepared to fall in love with Hawaii, and be sad to leave, and ready to return soon. After the day I had, I was glad to see Hawaii disappear into the distance. I wish we had never stopped there to begin with. Maybe someday I will be lucky enough to return under much better circumstances, but for now… I won’t miss it.

So there you have my Hawaiian experience. Not so good. We’re now in the middle of our last 6 days at sea before we return to San Diego. I’m sad, everyone is sad… but we’re also extremely busy. I’ll write more soon about how ship life had been moving along, and how things go as we prepare to end our voyage of discovery. I love you all and will be back home to see you soon.

XOXO,
-Drew

Sayonara Japan!!

2007-05-07T02:33:00.000-07:00

I’ve been so bummed these last few days. The realization has sunk in that I will be leaving the ship and this experience in a week’s time. Some of the folks on board are ready to leave, but I’m not one of them. I am in a state of denial, which probably explains why I haven’t begun my end-of-voyage report, or started to pack (or clean my cabin in the last three weeks. Nelly my cabin steward, must HATE me). Don’t get me wrong, I will be glad to be back in familiar surroundings and to see friends & family again. But my life back at home looks so hum-drum from where I’m sitting right now. I worry that I will miss “living with constant novelty and stimuli” as my friend Yas described her life on a previous voyage. But before I get all melancholy about already being in Honolulu tomorrow, I will turn my attention to Japan.

Japan, our final foreign port, was a fantastic way to finish this international journey. We returned to the “first world” and returned to a way of life that felt familiar in ways we’ve missed for the last 3 months. It was also a surreal different world that many of us did not expect. I know that some previous voyages spent only a few days there, but I don’t know how I could possibly have seen enough of Japan in 3 or 4 days; I felt squeezed with our 6 days. When we arrived in Kobe, it was drizzly and grey. The bright spot in our dismal arrival was that there was a fireboat shooting water sprays and a brass band waiting at the pier playing Sousa marches to welcome us to Japan. About 20 or so faculty and staff members were all up on the 7th deck as we pulled into the port, and we ended up marching around the deck in a huge parade to “76 Trombones.” It reminded me of being a kid when my sisters and I would follow my Dad on similar parades around our house to the same tune. We were all laughing and having a good ole time. The Japanese immigration folks on the dock waiting to board the ship got a kick out of it and were (politely) pointing and waving to us. Oddly, there weren’t any students out on the deck to join in the revelry…. Eh, their loss.

Eventually, the ship was cleared and RD’s Lesley, Matt, and I went with our friend Shayla into Kobe to explore for the day. We wandered around for a bit and finally figured out where the bank was located, and then how to redeem our Japan Rail passes and figure out their rail map. Rail travel is amazing in Japan, but it’s somewhat complex since there are so many trains and passengers on any given day. I was astounded. The first thing I noticed about Japan is that everything is impeccably clean and polished and landscaped. There was no trash anywhere. In the middle of a large industrial city, there was no gum on the ground, no graffiti, no dirt or grime on the sidewalks… nothing. The second thing I noticed was how quiet everything was. We were walking in the middle of the downtown area around lunchtime on a busy day in the middle of the work week. There were a lot of people around, but you could hear a pin drop. The silence was deafening it was so loud. It’s tough to try and compare Japan to home, especially after having been to so many different countries. When I compare Japan to India, with the constant barrage of sights and smells, and traffic, and people… it’s tough to keep perspective and know what is “normal” anymore, you know? All I know is that after my previous ports, Japan felt calm. I never realized how over-stimulated I’ve been on this voyage by ports like India or Brazil or Vietnam until I had a point of comparison, like Japan.

Something else I noticed in relation to the lack of noise in Japan. Occasionally we saw people chatting in pairs or small groups, but never at a loud volume. I’m used to people shouting and horns blaring, and all manners of aural assault, but none of that in Japan. Also, I know that when I’m at home I find myself talking on my cell phone more frequently than I would probably like to admit, but the Japanese people are too polite compared to typical Americans when it comes to cell phone etiquette. Even when on the trains or subways, or busses, it was common to see people emailing or text messaging, but never holding an actual conversation, or worse yet, shouting into the phone. (Can you hear me now?). I’m used to life in the OC where it seems your social status is determined by the amount of time spent jabbering into the cell phone or Bluetooth. The lack of noise walking through the cities was disturbing at first, but once I got used to it, it was so calm and refreshing. Even being back on the ship felt loud after my time in Japan. Again, it makes me wonder how I will adjust back to life in the loud United States.

But, I digress. As I said, our port city was Kobe, home of the famous Kobe beef. I was determined to eat some of this famous culinary fare while in Japan, but found out pretty darn quick that a Kobe beef dinner would not come cheap. I had wanted to get a group together to eat it the first night, but no one really wanted to splurge on an expensive steak dinner. My friends Matt, Lesley, Mindy, Dia, and Prof. Mary Keller all went out to a revolving sushi place in the entertainment arcade district. It was definitely a whole different experience than I am used to back in the states. First, not being able to communicate with anyone working in the restaurant was new for me. Luckily, every restaurant in all of Japan seems to have plastic replicas of all their dishes out in front of the store and menus with pictures. I learned that there are actual competitions held each year to see who can craft the most realistic replicas of food dishes. Some of them looked pretty appetizing sitting out in front of the restaurant. So, that’s how I knew what to order. Invariably, I would to point and the sushi chef would whip it up. The tougher part was trying to ask what something was. There was one large piece of sushi that looked a blackish-blue color and tasted awful. I think we later determined it was some sort of pickled vegetable, but I’m still not 100% on that one. I actually ate a boatload of sushi while in Japan. For all those who know me, I am a BIG sushi fan. I eat it whenever I can back in the states. I have to say that while eating sushi in Japan was novel, and surely fun. I wasn’t really impressed. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t bad. On the contrary, it was pretty darn good, but so is most of the sushi I eat in Cali. What I DID like, however, is that in every 7-11/Circle K store there was always a wide selection of sushi available. This meant that whenever I needed a pick-me up snack, or a quick breakfast fix, or late-afternoon munchie, I could stop in and grab a tuna roll. And even better, the seaweed comes wrapped separately from the rice and fish, so the rolls stay crunchy! SO important to any sushi connoisseur. If I were to estimate how many times I ate in sushi in my 6 day in Japan, it would probably be somewhere around 15. Scary I know!

After our revolving sushi dinner in Kobe we all wandered through the shopping arcades in downtown Kobe. These shopping arcades are a phenomenon in all the big cities in Japan. They are huge and long covered streets with floors and floors of shops and restaurants and casinos and game arcades. Now, if you’re thinking arcades and picturing pimply teenagers in dark rooms, you’re mistaken. These arcades are bright noisy sensory-overloaded spaces filled with pachinko games (seemingly the national arcade/slot machine game) and every manner of virtual reality game known to man. They are also packed full of people. Sure, they are usually around 20 years or so, but there were also lots of salarymen at varying levels of drunkenness (ubiquitous suited business men… they were everywhere), and families and the strangest assortment of people. Kobe is not a tourist Mecca. There are only a couple sites to see, including an Earthquake Memorial Park honoring the 1997 Earthquake that destroyed much of Kobe,. Since there really isn’t much for tourists to see in Kobe, most of the folks went back to the ship, But Prof. Mary and I wandered around until we found an internet café. We discovered one and found that the internet cafés in Japan are delux affairs with food and showers, and plush booths with couches and all sorts of perks. Trying to find the internet café was an experience all its own. Very little is written in English in Japanese cities, which surprised me. I assumed I would see more English in Japan, than in our other ports, but this was not the case. Very few people spoke English and almost all signs and papers and advertisements were in Japanese. So I would wander around and have no idea if I was in front of a restaurant, drug store, or love hotel (I’ll get to those later). The lack of English around didn’t frustrate me at all, and I know it would have been a big issue for me 3 months earlier. In that sense I know I have grown on this voyage. But what’s more, I enjoyed being able to detach from everything behind my language barrier and observe the culture around me. It made the fact that everything around me was so unfamiliar all the more exciting and new.

The next morning Lesley, Matt, and I made our way on the subway to the train station for our rail trips all around Japan. We were each heading to a different city and had plans to meet up in Hiroshima three days later with Mindy and Prof. Jen Mincer. We rode the train together to Osaka, and then I jumped another train to the city of Nara. I was carrying my newly purchased fake North Face bag (zipper broke on the first try) packed full of warm clothes. Once the rain cleared in Kobe, the temperature was perfect. Nice and cool, but perfectly warm during the day and sunny as can be. I can’t imagine more perfect spring weather. We were lucky. Anyways, I recently learned that I have gotten a reputation as a solo traveler. I actually think I earned it when I decided to travel alone in India, and then had such a great experience. No one else did anything like that by that point in the voyage, and most people were pretty intimidated by India (me included). In each port people assumed I would be striking out on my own to explore the country without Semester at Sea on my elbow. By and large, it was my preferred way to travel, though it is nice to share an experience with friends as well. The beauty of S@S is that inevitably, I run into friends at regular intervals and can touch base and share stories without feeling stifled by constant company. With so much to do in Japan, I was glad to once again, continue my independent traveling and go off on my own and see Japan.

Nara is a small city, in relation to others in Japan. It was the first real capital of Japan, but is still an important place for the cultural legacy of Japan. I spent most of the day wandering through the Nara-kōen area checking out the sites. Nara-kōen is a wooded hilly area that has some of the most important sights inside the area, right off the city’s downtown center. Some of the main sites I came across were the Tōdai-ji, which is a temple complex that includes the largest wooden building in the world, the Daibutsu-den Hall which has an enormous bronze Buddha image inside.

The Buddha is one of the largest bronze figures in the world and was originally cast in 746. (yes, that was only a three digit year, yikes!). Also in the complex is the Nandai-mon, an enormous gate with two fierce Niō guardians carved out of wood. They were huge sculptures and very dramatic and looked as though they would spring to life at any moment. The quirkiest thing about the whole complex was not the swarms of Japanese school children (and there were seriously hundreds of them), but rather a big wooden column at the back of the temple with a hole in the bottom of it. According to legend, anyone who can squeeze through the hole, which is exactly the same size as one of the giant Buddha statue’s nostrils, are ensured enlightenment. I watched as many school kids went through and took my place in line. I towered over them all, and they were jabbering with one another about me being among them, and giggling with me. I pantomimed that they would need to shove me through the hole, and when my turn came, they shoved me from one side and pulled me from the other. But instead of squeezing through, I ended up being wedged in place for about 3 minutes. It was pretty scary for a couple minutes there, because I started to panic, and I had no way to communicate with anyone who was around me. Luckily I was managed to wriggle free with only a bruised ego. But I had inexplicably become a celebrity of the moment, and was in many of the school kids photos for the rest of the afternoon.

After leaving the temple, I climbed into the hills and checked out the Nigatsu-dō which is a beautiful shrine that felt very serene and peaceful and had an amazing view over all of Nara. There were Buddhist monks strolling through the grounds and burning incense and ringing bells ceremonially. It was as I they were trying to find ways to make Japan a full service sensory experience, and it worked, right down to the cups of green tea I was given by a couple of monks sitting near the building watching the school kids fight over ringing the bells. I continued on and walked past a huge pasture filled with school kids playing with the famous sacred deer of Nara.

The Nara-kōen park area is home to about 1,200 deer, which in pre-Buddhist times were considered messengers of gods and today enjoy the status of “national treasures.” They roam the park and surrounding areas in search of hand-outs from tourists, often descending on petrified children who have the misfortune of carrying food. These deer are ruthless. If you have food or bought any shika-sembei (deer biscuits) then they won’t leave you alone until you feed them. These aren’t your normal cuddly Bambi deer either. These deer are big, and can be aggressive. The upside is that if you are feeding them, they will also allow you to pet them. It was VERY cool to pet these domesticated deer and be surrounded by them (and also a little scary… not gonna lie). Because it is starting to get warm in Japan, the deer were molting, or in the process of shedding their long winter coats. As a result they looked pretty mangey, with patches of fur falling out… like I said, not your idea of Bambi. I washed with a lot of Purell after I finished feeding them (which I admit I did a bunch of times throughout the day).
Before my day was done in Nara, I strolled through the Kasuga Taisha, a Shintō shrine that was founded in the 8th century and was rebuilt every 20 years according to Shintō tradition until the end of the 19th century. The approach to the shrine was lined with hundreds and hundreds of stone lanterns standing sentry. These lanterns were really very cool, and I wished I was there at the time of year when they are all lit to celebrate special holidays. I also got to take some nice picturess of the Kōfuku-ji five-story pagoda and other sites.
Everywhere I went the cherry blossoms seemed to have bloomed. After living in Washington DC where everyone (me included) makes such a big deal about the cherry blossoms, it was intense to be in Nara and Kyoto where cherry blossoms are a matter or national pride and celebration. It seemed that everywhere I looked there were pink flowering trees and blankets of pink petals on the ground. The people in Japan were quick to apologize that we were there a week after the blossoms bloomed, but I loved seeing the full blooms. They were also quick to tell us that we were lucky to be there as the azalias and wisteria were in bloom. The wisteria was blooming all over Nara-kōen and the smell, mixed with the Asian incense and green tea was intoxicating. Anytime I sat down to rest or drink some tea, inevitably someone would sit down next to me and strike up a conversation about what brought me to Japan and my homeland. This happened without fail, and while it was incredibly endearing, sometimes all I wanted was some quiet time for reflection. Invariably, I would tell people I was from the United States and they would talk about the US with specific knowledge, but when I asked, they would tell me they had never been to the US, and often never even out of Japan. Clearly, the Japanese take more care in exploring and understanding world affairs than most Americans.

Once I was templed out for the day, I hopped a train back to Osaka and then made my way to the Osaka Dome to see a Japanese baseball game with a big group of S@S folks, including my friend Dia. I had heard they were an experience not to be missed, and that was the truth. The game I saw was between the Orix Buffaloes, based in Osaka, and the Screaming Eagles from… uh… somewhere else. These were two lesser teams. If I had gone another night I would have seen the Hansei Tigers play, and they are the big team in the area with lots of rowdy fans. As it was, there were plenty of fans in the Osaka Dome to cheer on their teams. The weird thing, again, is that the stadium was so quiet, except when the big sections of fans for each team would stand and do their big cheers in unison. It seemed a little programmed, how the fan sections respectfully took turns doing their cheers and chants. While I knew the rules of baseball, and have been to games before, there were definitely a lot of time spent where I had no idea what was going on. Each team was full of Japanese players, but they each had about 4 or 5 gaijin players, or Americans who were either just past their prime, or working to get into the big leagues. Dia and I decided our favorite player was a guy named “Tuffy Rhodes.” He was actually one of the Buffaloes better players, but didn’t do much for them that night. We enjoyed cheering (loudly) for him anyways. Because the crowd was pretty thin, our Semester at Sea group spent a lot of time on the JumboTron screen. Even in Japan, we all got such a kick out of that, waving our arms and making fools of ourselves on the screen. In contrast, when the Japanese fans were put on the JumboTron screen, they invariably would ignore it, or try to hide from the camera or move out of the frame. It was pretty darn interesting. The tie game went long and into extra innings. Since it hadn’t been a very exciting game, we all left around 10:30pm. The S@S folks boarded a bus to head back to Kobe, and I went to Kita-ku, the main downtown entertainment district to explore Osaka for the evening. Osaka is a great place to explore at night. It’s like one huge arcade and amusement park mixed up into one. It also has a real flashy Las Vegas feel to it with the small bars and love hotels mixed in. Love hotels are, as the name suggests, used by Japanese couples for discreet trysts. They can be rented by the hour, but you shouldn’t automatically get the grimey dirty feeling you would in the US. These love hotels are perfectly fine, but really strangely decorated. They often have themes and outrageous flamboyant facades. My favorite one that I saw had a Christmas theme. It looked like it was straight out of a bad Disney theme park with mechanical Santas and elves moving all over it and flashing lights and fake snow. It was so bizarre and kitchy, and before you ask, no I did not go into any of the love hotels (get your mind out of the gutter). Anyways, the entertainment arcades were filled with people milling around and moving from bar to bar. I wandered around a bit, and dropped my stuff off at my hotel and grabbed a snack. I was definitely experiencing sensory overload, and was staring at a map outside of a bookstore when a few people asked me where I was from and if I needed directions. I ended up spending the rest of the evening hanging out with them. They were JR, a Mexican-American who was teaching English in Japan, Pieter an Australian guy who manages a bar in Osaka, and Roger, a Kiwi who does advertising in Osaka. They were nice guys and showed me around Kita-ku, introduced me to sake, shōchū, some strange noodle dishes, and karaoke. We went to Pieter’s bar and sang a few numbers there with some of the bar patrons (George Michael & Lynard Skynard never sounded so bad!). Afterwards we went and took part in a Japanese tradition.

Bathing is treated as a ritual in Japan, and I went with my new friends to an onsen, or Japanese bathhouse. Everyone in Japan goes to these baths on a regular basis. It is a part of the culture. Even at 1:00 in the morning, the bath we went to was full of men cleansing and soaking in the hot tubs. I knew I wanted to try out this Japanese ritual, but I was really hesitant to get naked with complete strangers. Getting naked with strangers is not my cultural norm, but for the Japanese it is the great social leveler. Company presidents rub naked shoulders with truck drivers, priests with politicians. Everyone revels in the anonymity that nudity allows. The only people who stand out, are the yakuza, or Japanese mafia, because of their ornate tattoos. I saw a couple of them in the bath, but I steered clear. Once I was undressed, I saw down on a stool, in front of a strange tap in a room full of other naked men. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I tried stealing a few glances at the men around me to figure it out, but tried to be discreet in my glances. Turns out that discretion doesn’t really exist in these baths. These Japanese men explained, with gusto, the process of filling bowls with warm water and then pouring them over yourself, soaping up and rinsing off. They spoke no English, so much of this was done in pantomime and by me following their examples. After rinsing off all the soap, you then climb into a hot bath and soak. There were four different baths of varying temperatures. One was only lukewarm, and one was so hot I thought it was melt the flesh off of me. After soaking in the two middle tubs for a while I got out and re-rinsed off and then dressed and was on my way. Again, this was one of the most hilarious, yet culturally interesting experiences I have ever had. Sadly, I have no pictures to show for it (go figure, right?).

I eventually made it back to my hotel, which was a whole different experience. I decided to try something different that night and had checked into a capsule hotel. Capsule hotels are for businessmen who missed the last train and need a cheap, but nice place to stay for the night. Essentially, you rent a tube to sleep in for the night. The tube is the size of a large twin sized bed, and has a very comfortable mattress, down comforter, and nice bedding. Each tube also has its own coin operated TV, radio, alarm clock, and light. That’s it for amenities. There were something like 500 of these tubes on 3 floors in this capsule hotel, all in double bunks. My tube, #3085, was an upper bunk, so I had to climb up and then slide in for the night before closing the screen across the front. It must sound like sleeping in a drawer, and some of my students thought it sounded like a coffin, but it really was a pretty cool experience. I mean, why do I need to rent a whole room when all I need is the bed, right? When you come in to the hotel, you leave your shoes in a locker in the lobby, and then are given a key for a locker corresponding to your capsule. You put all your belongings into the locker at the front of the hotel and then change into a yukata, or cotton kimono to wear in the hotel. Inside there are a couple of very nice lounge rooms with television, etc and very nice restroom and changing areas, much like in a country club, or the like. Other than the fact that I was the only gaijin in the place, the funniest thing was changing into the yukata. When I walked in, I saw all sorts of Japanese men in their yukatas which were large and floor length and covered them completely. When I put on the same yukata, it barely reached my knees and only barely closed across the front. I got a few strange looks from the other patrons, and even saw a couple of them chuckling at me. In the end, I just went with it and had fun overall. I wouldn’t have believed it, but I got an awesome night sleep in my “spacious coffin” capsule.

The next morning I went back to the train station for the Shinkansen bullet train to Kyoto. Kyoto is often called one of the loveliest cities in all of Asia, and I believe that to be true, as it was one of my favorite places that I visited. With over 1,600 Buddhist temples, more than 400 Shintō shrines and 17 UNESCO World Heritage sites, Kyoto is an incredibly culturally rich city. For 1,000 years it served as the capital of Japan, and even though the capital has long since moved to Tokyo, Kyoto is still the place where even the Japanese come to discover their cultural roots. But Kyoto is more than just temples, shrines, and history, and I was glad to explore it all. I could easily have spent an entire week in Kyoto alone, and still not been tired of the architecture, culture, food, and people. Once I arrived, I first wandered around until I was able to find a room in a ryokan. Ryokans are traditional Japanese inns, where rooms have tatami floors (straw mat floors), and futons on the floor instead of actual beds. You leave your shoes at the door, and once inside, take an onsen bath before changing into your yukata robe for the night. It is a very serene type of place to stay, and relatively cheap. I wandered around trying to find a room when I got to Kyoto, but struck out the first few times as the inns were full. But the helpful owner of the second ryokan called around and found me a room in a nice little place called Chidori Ryokan. The proprietor was a nice little wizened old woman who had a perma-smile and spoke maybe 3 words of English, but she clearly wanted to take care of me and the other guests while we stayed in her ryokan. So cute! I decided to spend two full days in Kyoto, and I began my first day taking a Plonely Planet walking tour. I love Lonely Planet, and they always steered me in the right direction and Kyoto was no exception. I began with the Kiyomizu-dera, one of the most important temples in Kyoto. It is on the list of sites being considered for the new list of the 7 Wonders of the World. The temple complex had a collection of beautiful buildings, all dating back to the year 798. The complex is at the top of a hill and set into the forest, so it appears even more serene and natural, despite the throng of Japanese tourists checking out the site. I took some amazing pictures of the main buildings and the colorful pagoda, and even of the city of Kyoto off in the distance. There were some cool shintō shrines in the complex, and I learned the proper way to send up a prayer, clapping twice, ringing the bell, and lighting incense. I also drank from the natural wells spaced through the temple complex. Legend has it that the cool sweet waters there are reported to have therapeutic properties (and also thought to improve school test scores). The Tainai-Meguri was a strange room under one of the main halls where you entire “the womb” of the female Bodhisattva goddess. The room was completely pitch black, and you had to feel along the wall around many curves, until you reached a huge stone in the middle of the room. You then turned the stone clockwise a few turns in order to make a wish and earn good luck. It was totally bizarre and a strange experience, but wickedly cool as well. The complex also included the Jishu-jinja, which were two large stones spaces 18 meters apart. People walk between the two stones with their eyes closed. If they miss the second stone, then their desire for love would go unfulfilled. When I walked between the stones, a man shouted for me to stop walking, and then to reach down and feel the stone to my right. If he hadn’t stopped me, I would have missed the stone altogether and been condemned to a loveless life. Phew, dodged that bullet!! It was within the Kiyomizu-dera complex that I saw my first geishas. Kyoto is known for its cherry blossoms, temple roofs, and the geishas. I learned that what we traditionally think of as geisha, with the white faces and elaborate kimono, are actually the maiko, or apprentice geishas. True geishas no longer wear the white make-up, though they do wear different, and less ornate kimonos. At any rate, I saw bunches of geisha maiko in Kyoto, usually scurrying along with their wooden shoes hailing cabs, or dodging into restaurants or private parties. So mysterious!!

After the Kiyomizu-dera, I wandered through what are considered some of the cutest streets in Kyoto, filled with little tea houses, and beautiful homes, and galleries. I also wandered through gift shops and souvenir shops looking for things to buy to commemorate my trip to Japan. I was sad to find that everything in the shops seemed really cheap, or garish, or looked like crap for children. The things I found to be really neat or cool ended up costing a fortune. Plus, we learned that much like in the US, all prices are fixed. Gone are the days of bargaining down the undesired price for items found on the street. So sad. I guess this means I will have been weaned off before getting back to the states and embarrassing myself trying to bargain in Albertson’s, eh? So in the end, I didn’t end up buying almost anything in Japan. Sad, especially since I enjoyed the country so much. I kept walking and passed a few more important temples, like the Kōdai-ji, Hōtoku-ji, and Dainichi-do. Next I wandered around in an incredibly picturesque park called the Maruyama-kōen where the cherry blossoms were still in full bloom, near koi ponds, and willow trees.

There were scores of Japanese teens gathering for a huge pot luck under the blossoms chatting away on mats and enjoying the final hours of the evening. I don’t know what the group was, but they seemed to really be enjoying the evening. In this park, I also stumbled across one of my favorite families from the ship, the Zimmerman’s. Mom, Toni is a professor on the ship, and her husband Craig and daughters Misha and Sage (13 and 11) are SO much fun, and always good for some laughs. We met up three more times that afternoon/evening, even though we always went in completely opposite directions. It was so funny. After wandering through the park, I checked out another important site, called Chion-in. The temple complex is at the top of a huge hill of stairs, and is still a hive of religious activity. I was there in time to watch the monks in the middle of a ceremony where they were chanting and consecrating some type of family event in the main hall. The buildings were all gorgeous, with carvings, and gilding, and ornate metal work. It was while looking at these temples that it struck me that temples in Japan are almost always in muted earth tones; browns, tans, greys. This is very different than in China and other areas where temples are always bright colors, like reds and golds and greens. Just one more example of Japanese culture being understated, calm, and serene. The final site of my day was to see the Yasaka-jinja. The colorful shrine is one of the important places people visit to celebrate the new year. It has huge paper lanterns hanging from all the surfaces and I arrived in time to see them all lit up as dusk fell over Kyoto. It was a nice way to end my day or temple viewing.

My evening was spent exploring Kyoto’s traditional entertainment areas of Gion and Pontochō. Each night a legion of kimono-clad mama-sans, slick-suited businessmen, and harijiku styled trendy 20-somethings descend on these areas to transact the business of fun. There are long streets filled with small bars, and restaurants. I learned that many of them do not allow gaijin like myself to enter. I ran into the Zimmermans again, stalking geisha and then into JP and Shannon, two folks from the “Dalit Village” crew on the ship. I joined them and we went in search of dinner for the night. We ended up finding a very trendy restaurant for the young Kyoto set in the downstairs of an arcade building. The restaurant was posh, but pretty cheap. We had a pretty interesting meal, even if we did stumble through the ordering process a few times. After that, we hurried back to our respective ryokan in time for the 11pm curfews. The futon and tatami mats and down comforters made for one heavenly night sleep after a long day of temple-hopping.

The next day I slept in a little bit, and when I finally left the ryokan, I ran into JP, Shannon, and Matt I. the tech guy, outside of my ryokan. We were all searching for the entrance into Shōsei-en which was a beautiful walled garden, complete with small pagoda, bridge, carp pond, cherry blossoms, etc. It was lovely, and a nice peaceful way to begin the day.

Then I left the three folks and hopped on the subway for some more sightseeing. I wandered through some more temples, and brick aqueducts, and tried my best to avoid the slow drizzle that had started. I wandered in and out of a few galleries and purchased a small wood-block print, and then the rain started to come down a little harder. I looked at my guidebook and found an udon noodle restaurant right nearby that was popular with locals. True to form, I was the only gaijin present, but was welcomed by the proprietor. I waited outside along with bunches of couples and families for a seat at one of the large family style tables. I ordered a bowl of udon noodles in broth with a shrimp tempura on top. There was also a very soft boiled egg dropped into the broth, and some interesting vegetables that were foreign to me. The soup was so warm and so tastey… the perfect lunch on a chilly drizzly grey afternoon. It was incredibly yummy, even the egg, which cooked up in the warm broth. I slurped my noodles, just like the other patrons (a sign that you are enjoying the meal) and watched them all as they chatted and enjoyed their lunches. I almost felt like I disappeared into the background, and got to observe all of these people in a way that most foreigners don’t. It was neat. I rolled out of there with a toasty warm, and full belly and ran into JP, Shannon, and Matt again coming from a different direction. As the sun came out, they pointed me along the Tetsugaku-no-michi, also known as the Path of Philosophy. It was a nice stroll along the water canal that allowed one to be alone with his thoughts and ponder life’s “big questions.” Sad to report, no big answers came to me. Sorry. I finished my Kyoto sightseeing with a stop at Gingaku-ji, one of Kyoto’s most breathtaking temples, though also thronged with Japanese tourists. It was well worth it. This temple was truly magnificent, and was surrounded by perfectly landscaped Zen gardens that just oozed serenity. After that, I hopped a bus back to the train station and was off on the Shinkansen bound for Hiroshima.

Two and a half hours later, I arrived in Hiroshima, where I hopped on a cable car to make my way over to the Peace Memorial Park area where I was to meet Matt, Lesley, Mindy, and Jen at our ryokan. Turns out I got on the wrong cable car, and was completely lost. The people on the cable car immediately tried to find ways to help me. They grabbed at maps and got the driver to stop the cable car to let me off. One woman even paid for my cable car ride since I had already paid to go in the wrong direction. A couple of the people on the car with me actually got off the cable car, and then waited to make sure I got on the right one, going in the right direction. They spoke to the new cable car driver to look out for me. I was pretty sure that one of the nicest little old ladies was going to get on the cable car with me until I finally got the point across that they were being too helpful and embarrassing me. This kind of over (and sometimes suffocating) helpfulness was the rule and not the exception in Japan. Once I got off the cable car the ryokan was supposed to be a 1 minute walk from the cable car stop, and I had the address, but no idea how to find it. Not a single road sign was in English, and none of the buildings were correctly labeled either. Even showing the address to people brought about some perplexed and confused looks. As I expected, they then all tried in earnest to help me find my way, but usually in vain. I felt bad because it seemed that they were all just as frustrated about not being able to help me as I was about not being able to find the ryokan. It was as if they took it as a personal assault when they weren’t able to be helpful. (Why can’t Americans treat one another the same way???). At any rate, after about 30 minutes of searching a woman walked me to a street and pointed. When she saw I was still clueless, she actually walked me to the door of the ryokan, and I am glad she did, because I never would have known it was an inn. The Kasuga Ryokan was not as nice as the one I had in Kyoto, but it was decent. Mindy was waiting in the ryokan, and we sipped our green tea on the balcony waiting for the others to arrive. Once they arrived, we wandered around downtown Hiroshima and checked out the entertainment arcades before finding a noodle shop for a late bite. After dinner a couple of us used the restrooms in the mall and were in for a bit of strange Japanese culture. I was used to squat toilets after my time in the rest of Asia, and I had found them in Japan as well, though much cleaner and easier to use. But in this bathroom the toilets looked like normal western toilets. However, when I sat down, I jumped back up in fright. I hadn’t realized there was a seat warmer on the toilet, to keep your booty comfy. It was quite the shocker. Another interesting thing was a little button you can press that works like a bidet and “cleanses” your bottom with a spray of water. You can even adjust the pressure on your posterior (I played with those dials for a while). It was a very strange sensation, and in some ways I felt like my booty was its cleanest ever, but I don’t think I could get used to a wet bottom. Ok, enough toilet talk. I will move on.

After dinner, we went into the entertainment arcade and found to SEGA-world full of fun video games. There was a taiko drumming game, similar to Guitar Hero, that we all loved, even though it gave a few of us blisters on our hands (3 blisters for me, boo!). We also popped into a photo booth and took a bunch of group shots which you then can digitally enhance with graphics and words and clip art. It was so bizarre, but another one of those “things people do in Japan.” There is a whole cottage industry around the picture booths, where you can rent costumes, or wigs or upgrade to different and better clip art or options. It was fascinating. We all especially liked the way the photo booth washed most of the color out of your face, and wiped away any and all wrinkles making us all appear about 10 years younger. (If only!).

Things seem to shut down pretty early in most Japanese cities during the week, so we made our way back to the ryokan before the curfew, but not before stopping off at Lawson’s (their 7-11) for some mochi ice-cream balls, sushi, sake, Japanese beer, and strange fruit mixers. We went back to our ryokan and played card games and enjoyed our beverages until late into the evening. I’m so thankful to have made such fun friends on this trip. My night in Hiroshima just made that even more obvious to me.

Don't I look hot in my Yukata w/ Lesley??

The next day, we woke pretty early and headed to Starbucks (at Lesley’s request/demand). It was weird to be back in a western establishment. It was also strange because they were playing Hawaiian music in the store, which previewed our next port a week later. We enjoyed our drinks and pastries and then headed for the park. Wandering around Hiroshima, it was obvious that this was a very young city, especially when compared to Nara and Kyoto, which are filled with ancient sites and history. Almost everything in Hiroshima was destroyed in one instant at 8:15am on August 6, 1945 when it became the world’s first nuclear target. The city has risen from the ashes, and though the heritage is ancient, none of the buildings are older than 60 or so years. We spent a considerable amount of time reflecting on the A-Bomb and its damage on the city for most of the day. We started with the Peace Memorial Museum. Most museums bore me, and I get through them pretty quickly. I joke that when I visited Paris, I did the Louvre at a dead run in 2 hours flat, but prior to my time in Hiroshima I had done a lot of reading about the destruction of the city and time discussing nuclear proliferation, so I was inspired to really enjoy this museum. I appreciated that the A-Bomb Museum, as it is commonly known, is really named the Peace Memorial Museum. The clear message of the museum is the need for peace and an end to the nuclear age. Yes, the exhibits tell the story of the bomb and the destruction it wrought on Hiroshima and it people, but it does it in a sensitive way and without assigning blame or alienating anyone. It chronicled the events leading up to the bombing and immediately after. It displayed pictures and remains of the victims, pictures of demolished buildings, accounts of death and radiation, and a simple plea for peace. I expected that as an American, I would be subjected to a lot of messages present to make me feel guilty. In the end, I left horrified over the destruction, sad that it was my homeland that caused it, and inspired to try and make a difference… but not full of guilt, as I had feared. This museum was so great because its message was so incredibly simple, even if it was delivered with sledgehammer force. My favorite exhibit featured copies of telegrams and letters from the Mayor of Hiroshima. Since the day the bomb was dropped, the mayor of Hiroshima, regardless of who they have been, has responded to every single bomb test or instance of nuclear power with a personal letter sent to the leader of that nation pleading with them to abandon their nuclear programs in favor if more peaceful and less destructive methods. I found the exhibit stirring, but then again, the entire museum grabbed me. When we left the museum we entered the Peace Memorial Park which is a beautiful park that is dedicated to the memory of the lives lost as a result of the bomb. It includes a cenotaph that contains the names of all known victims of the bomb, and the Children’s Peace Memorial inspired by Sadako Sasaki, the child survivor who developed leukemia and then folded 1,000 origami paper cranes, the symbol of longevity and happiness in Japan, convinced it would help her recover. The Children’s Memorial is a nice statue, but the highlight is boxes that surround the memorial filled with thousands of folded paper cranes sent by children from every corner of the globe. The dependant children on our voyage worked with out community to fold over 1,000 cranes which were brought to the memorial. When we found our cranes in the huge collection, it gave me a sense of being part of something much larger than myself.

Beyond the park is the A-Bomb Dome, which is one of the few buildings that was still standing after the bomb exploded over Hiroshima. The only reason it remained was that it was directly under the hydrocenter of the blast. Even though the building was destroyed, the hollowed dome still stands over Hiroshima as an eternal reminder of what violence can do to a city, a nation, and a people.

After such an intense morning, we left the park and walked past the Hiroshima Carp Stadium where the local Hiroshima Carp baseball team was getting ready to take on the Tigers. The stadium was swarmed with people and we almost decided to buy tickets at the last minute. Instead, we went back to the entertainment arcades in order to grab some lunch. We weren’t doing a good job of agreeing on what to eat. Some wanted noodles, others wanted sushi, and I was in the mood for tempura or shabu-shabu (cross between hibachi and fondou). I admit, I was being pretty stubborn and didn’t want to just settle on a restaurant, so we all went our separate ways. I know, imagine… me? Stubborn? Forgive me, but I figured that I only have a few meals to eat in Japan, and I didn’t want to settle for something convenient, when I can try something new and special. I ended up finding a really cool place and got my tempura fix, and was able to try Japanese curry as well, which is very different than Indian curry, but equally good. After lunch we went back to the SEGA-world and played the taiko drum game a bit more, then Mindy and I set out for one last adventure in Hiroshima. We went to explore the Hiroshima Castle, called the Carp Castle. The building was really beautiful and is a replica of the original which was destroyed in the bomb. The others didn’t want to join us because they were tired of stuffy museums, but this one turned out to be very cool. Inside were some really interesting exhibits about samurai culture and traditions, and explanations about how the feudal lords in Japan protected themselves in their castles. Mindy and I especially liked being able to dress in full samurai regalia, both the informal yukata and the ornate battle dress uniform. Also, the views from the top of the picturesque castle were also very cool. We could see out across the entire city to the water, into the stadium where cheering crowds threw balloons, and up into the hills surrounding the city. The city seemed so small from up there, that I would never have believed that it was home to 1.1 million people if I hadn’t read about it.

We eventually met back up with the other folks and we boarded trolley cars, and then the Shinkansen train back for Kobe. When we got to Kobe, Mindy took the train home to the ship in order to work the on-ship time line. Matt and Lesley decided to walk back to the ship and I convinced Jen Mincer that we should finally get some Kobe beef before leaving Japan. We got some advice on a couple of good places in the center of town and made our way into the city. We eventually were seated in a nice place around a hibachi grill type of table, along with two S@S students. Or chef prepared our food right in front of us, and it was amazingly good. I don’t think I will ever taste meat as good as in Brazil, but the Kobe beef came damn close. It had incredible flavor, and was so tender. It practically melted in my mouth. It’s hard to compare it to Brazilian meat, or meat from anywhere else. “Same same, but different” as our Vietnamese friends would say. I think that works perfectly here. It was just damn good. The price tag, however, was not so nice. We paid about $45 each for a very very very small piece of meat, and that was the cheapest price we saw anywhere in Kobe. We had been told that the restaurant accepted credit cards, but at the end of the meal they wouldn’t take mine, so a quick panic ensued until I was able to scrounge up the cash to pay for the meal. (***Mental note, I need to pay off my IOU’s around the ship before San Diego. Yikes!). Once the bill was settled, we took the subway back to the ship. Japan is the first port where every single member of our community was back, on ship, and sober by on-ship time. We were so proud of them, especially in our final international port, which we heard can be crazy. In typical Student Life style, we finished the night by playing cards in Studio 7 (F/S Lounge) and watched Kobe and Japan sail away. We took a quick break to watch the water around the ship swirling and bioluminescing bright blue as we sailed out of the harbor. We were all excited about the natural phenomenon until I recalled that it only happens in warm water. What we were seeing was really “red tide” and is not a good thing at all. Yikes! Let’s hope it wasn’t an omen for the rest of our voyage, eh? Well, time to jet off for some yearbook photos. I send my love back to everyone stateside.

XOXO
-Drew

Bai bai Hong Kong, Zaijian China!

2007-05-01T09:00:00.000-07:00

I have fallen in love with Asia. It is such an amazing place, and each country has been even more fantastic than the last. When I arrived into Hong Kong, I had a mental picture of huge buildings and expensive malls jammed full of people. I hadn’t heard a lot about the cultural heritage of Hong Kong, just the economic stuff, so my expectations for a touristy time there were low. To top things off, I really had less than 24 hours to experience HK before getting on a plane bound for Beijing. I didn’t know if I would be able to experience the city fully, but I was sure gonna try. Sailing into the harbor in Hong Kong was a whole new kind of port entry. In many ways, I felt like I was on the circle Line in New York City sailing around Manhattan. The buildings are huge architectural behemoths, and they’re all right on top of one another. Sadly, the morning of our arrival was drizzly and dank with very low clouds and light rain, so many of these awesome buildings just ascended and were lost in the clouds. But the effect made them seem like they just grew infinitely up and up forever. The mood of everyone on the ship was very somber and not just because of the weather outside. As we woke, we all learned about the massacre on the Campus of Virginia Tech. It was talked about in hushed conversations between snapshots of the skyline and internet updates. I was asked to begin planning for a campuswide service, or acknowledgment of what had happened, most likely for our first night back on the ship. Many of us were dispatched to find our VT students to make sure they were coping before we disembarked into HK and China. We came together as a campus community for our diplomatic briefing, but instead of listening to the representative from the State Department, we updated everyone on the details we got off of CNN.com or other news sources. We held a moment of silence and the Archbishop said a few words about how he was made sense of violence in the world.

Everyone did their best to set aside their feelings and go out and enjoy Hong Kong. Once we were cleared through Chinese/HK customs and immigration, we went out into HK. What a city! When I was in Rio de Janiero 2 months ago, one of the students traveling with me likened the city to a tropical New York City. I didn’t really feel like that was a good way to describe Rio, but it feels like the perfect way to describe Hong Kong. The city is very modern and cosmopolitan, with tall building, trendy shops, flashing neon lights, tabloids, etc. What felt different was that there was a huge mountain in the distance, and the city seemed to grow right up the side of Victoria Peak. Also, there were lush parks and vegetation throughout the city that gave it that distinct, tropical feeling. The fact that we were surrounded by water made it even more spectacular, another thing shared by HK and NYC. Being on the water looking back up at the city provided some of the best views of the city, especially at night. Hong Kong seems majestic and impressive during the day, but the true beauty of the city appears most at night when it blazes with light and color. During the day, the city feels like NYC, but at night it more closely resembles Las Vegas. Every tall building on the skyline is decorated with thousands of lights. At 8pm each night the lights are coordinated into a light show, set to music. The level of organization and sophistication that has gone into coordinating the effort is astounding. A bunch of us staff members were on one of the ferry boats, crossing from Kowloon (the mainland side of HK) to the island of Hong Kong around 8pm and were able to catch the light show from the water. Wow. That’s all I can say. It was breathtaking.

To begin my one day experience with Hong Kong, RD Mindy and I walked around the Kowloon area and checked out some of the malls. OMG, were there ever some ritzy glitzy stores, and everything was expeeeeensive. We managed to find a bank, and then stumbled with our new Cantonese phrases to get out some money. I snuck off for a little while in order to find a travel agency to get Japan Rail Pass, since we were told you can’t actually get them in Japan. Eventually we met up with fellow staff members Kristen, Emily, & Ben for some Dim Sum! All throughout my trip there have been banner moments in my culinary journey. Authentic Dim Sum in Hong Kong was one I had long awaited. Dim sum is a Chinese brunch activity where little carts wheel past tables with small dishes of delicious delicacies. You just pick the dishes of small servings that most appeal and eat those or share with your table mates. It’s kind of like the Cantonese version of tapas, and oh, so good. When I think of brunch or breakfast, I often think of sweets and pastries. Dim sum is much heartier, and often made with savory dishes. The place we chose was right along Victoria Harbor, so we had an awesome view of Hong Kong across the water as we ate, and watched the thick clouds swirl around the tops of the buildings (bringing new meaning to the term sky-scrapers!). I’ve had dim sum a number of times in the US, and I was not disappointed by the Chinese version. We had some gooood eatin’. The experience made me miss my dim sum guru, Nicki back in California, and my friend Irene, who first introduced me to dim sum years back. While eating, I practiced my new Cantonese phrases with the restaurant staff. lay hao (hello), doh jeh (thank you), and mm goi (excuse me). As always the staff members got a kick out of hearing a white guy like me stumble through pronouncing their language. After lunch we all descended into the Hong Kong metro system for a trip across the water onto Hong Kong Island. Mindy and I went our separate way and popped out in the heart of downtown. We walked around a while and stopped to talk with a couple of students. They interviewed us in English for a school project, and then let us ask them some questions as well. They were so proud of Hong Kong and made sure to tell us all about the sites we should see while in town. They were aghast that we told them we were only going to spend one day in the city. Truth be told, after being there only a few hours, I was sad that I was going to be leaving so soon as well. Mindy and I checked out some of the squares downtown, and the cathedral in the middle of town, and slowly made our way up hill to grab the tram up to the top of Victoria Peak. Once up on top we saw an amazing view of the entire city as the clouds swirled around the roofs below us. Every so often the clouds would sweep away and we could see out over Hong Kong and then across to Kowloon and beyond. It was spectacular. One of the eeriest and coolest things, was when the cloud cover enveloped the Peak and all we could see was a few feet in front of you, or see the wisps of cloud spilling over the side of the embankment and down across the city. It truly felt like being inside of the cloud. It’s really great how we could be in the middle of such a bustling city and still find a place of natural beauty and serenity. I appreciated that in Hong Kong, they made a point of sprinkling little parks and gardens among the bustle of people, buildings, cars, and other business.

While up on Victoria Peak, Mindy and I ran into a bunch of S@S students and we all shopped in the little mall at the upper tram station. Eventually we made our way down on the tram and Mindy and I found our way to the zoo, where we discovered the jaguar roaming around her cage being very active and making loud noises I haven’t ever heard come out of an animal. While we wandered around, I slowly got sweatier and sweatier. When we first arrived, Hong Kong felt somewhat cool, thanks to the rainy weather, but as the day went on, things just got warmer and more humid. I hadn’t planned on becoming the sweatiest man in Asia, but it happened nonetheless. At any rate, we then trudged on trying to find one of the quirkiest sites in Hong Kong. My guide book, and several people on the ship had talked about the World’s Longest Escalator which goes from the top of the city, and snakes all the way through downtown and ends almost near the Harbor. The thing is 800 meters long, and all under a nice dry canopy. 800m is like 24 football fields, more even. I thought it would be a great way to travel in style back down to the water. Since we were near the top when we got off the tram, I led Mindy on a wild goose chase to find the top of the escalator. (She made faces and complained the whole time, but I could tell she secretly loved every minute of it… or so I have convinced myself). After about 20 minutes of walking random sidestreets (all uphill) we finally found the top of the escalator. I was so proud of myself, and ready for a big apology from Mindy, who swore I wouldn’t find it. But, in true Drew-style, I hadn’t read the guidebook closely enough to realize that the escalator only moves in one direction at a time… and at that hour, it was up, and not down. We no longer had the energy to walk down the hill and across town, so I sprang for a cab back down to the water. Then Mindy and I took one of the ferries back across the water to this ship. The ferry boats are the most popular and easiest way to cross from Hong Kong to Kowloon. Every few minutes they depart on one of the many routes bringing commuters across. They are invariably packed at all hours of the day with locals, who all know not to stand near the rail or else you get splashed. I didn’t know that part, and took a couple waves to the face, but the incredible views made it too fun to move.

Back on the ship, Mindy and I met up with about 15 other staff members for a gigantic NON-college student night on the town. Ben, one of the Global Nomads, has a cousin who lives in Hong Kong. We met up with the cousin and his Hong Kong native wife and took a ferry back across the harbor to Hong Kong Island. This was the ferry ride where we saw all the buildings on the waterfront lit up as colorfully as Las Vegas and doing a coordinated light show extravaganza. I don’t think the word “extravaganza” gets used enough, and this was really a good example of an extravaganza.

We made our way through the city on the big escalator ( HA! I knew I’d do it eventually!) until we got to an entertainment district full of little restaurants. We all wanted a genuine Hong Kong culinary experience, so we found a little outdoor restaurant in a big alleyway where the cook made only a couple dishes served by his wife. We all sat around under some umbrellas and ordered Asian beers (well everyone except me) when suddenly… the sky opened up and rain poured down on Hong Kong. You might think that this rain would have dampened our spirits (get it??? dampen, SO funny!) but on the contrary. It just made the whole experience seem more fun and authentic. We all got a little wet, and enjoyed Hong Kong in the rain, but eventually things got too wet, and we were just too large a group to go to a single restaurant so we split up. I ended up at an awesome Thai place with IT Matt, Nurse Emily, Field Program Kristen, and Global Nomad Joanna. Something about eating Thai food in Asia, after just having left Indochine… it was the best Thai food I’ve ever had. After dinner we all went bar hopping in different groupings. I had an early morning ahead, so I took the metro back and stopped off at the big Temple Street Night Market in the Tim Sha Tsui District of Kowloon (a bohemian social area of Hong Kong). This is a serious market, and nothing like the 4th Avenue Street Fair at home in Tucson. It is stall after stall of clothes, CDs, souvenirs, artwork, toys and games, and the most imaginative crap I’ve ever seen on sale. There are never prices listed, and everything is negotiable. I got to use one of the phrases a Hong Kong student on the ship taught me: “Lang loi, pang di la,” which translates to “Pretty lady, lower the price please.” It got me a few winks, but no one really lowered the prices for me. Geez! No worries though since I went with no intention of buying anything. However, I ended up taking home a beautiful painting of Hong Kong because the artist saw me appreciating it and decided I should have it for HK$70 (about US$9) which is all that was in my pocket. He insisted that the painting was of Causeway Bay, but it looked suspiciously similar to his painting of Lang Kwai Fong, and of Connaught Place. Even the buildings were the same. But you know what, I wasn’t going to argue b/c it was still pretty, and for a good price. I finally made my way back to the ship to pack and prepare for an early morning start on my trip to…

BEIJING! Yes, I traveled to the heart of Red China. Early that morning I met with my group of 57 students for our 4 day journey into China. Beth, the Director of Student Life, my boss, & co-trip leader for the Beijing trip, were sad to see that 8 of the people traveling with us to Beijing didn’t show for our departure time. Lynn, the Field Office Coordinator clued us in that she put all the “problem children” in our group because she knew “we could handle things.” (Boy aren’t WE lucky people! ***note sarcasm.) So we left the ship for the airport shy 8 people. When we boarded the busses to drive to the airport, we drove along the water for a bit and I was astounded. All the clouds had cleared away and the skyline was glittering and sparkling. Hong Kong looked like a whole different city, and it was breathtaking all over again. It made me sad that we were leaving such an incredible city, when I knew there was so much more of it to explore. We got to the airport and as we were checking in, 4 of the absent students ran up to the group from taxis they had taken from the ship. Another 2 of them joined us on the plane just as the door was being locked. The last ones had the audacity to demand no dock time since they met us before we left for Beijing. Let’s just say I declined to accept their demands. He he he. They don’t call me “Dock Time Nazi” for nothing. Did I mention that was one of the nicknames I’ve received on this voyage? Another one is Steamer since I sweat so much in the tropics. That one makes me feel a little weird, especially since the name comes from a story that RD Matt tells, and he’s an even sweatier guy than I am. Sheesh!

Ok, so back from the random tangent. We arrived after our uneventful flight to Beijing, and made our way through immigration when one of my students, Craig, realizes he left his passport on the plane. A mad dash ensued in order to get him to the plane and then back through immigration and customs and to the bus without ruining our schedule. Eventually that was accomplished, and I popped my first of many Advils. Beth and I met our two guides, Sonya and Ivy for our time in Beijing. The two of them were so cute and so helpful and just the nicest ambassadors we could have hoped for. Ivy was with my bus and she told us all about Beijing as we drove to the Southern part of the city, a residential area south of the Forbidden City, where our hotel was located. We learned that the Forbidden City is in the heart of Beijing, because the Emperor always felt that he was the center of the universe, and therefore his palace should be in the middle of the city. In fact, the name of China in Mandarin translates to “Middle Country” because the Chinese used to believe that their homeland was the middle of the universe. Interesting huh? What’s even more interesting, is that the Mandarin translation for America is “Beautiful Country.” Isn’t that nice? So, the Forbidden City is in the center of Beijing, and there are five or six ring roads that emanate out from the center. The first ring is around the Forbidden City, the second encompasses Tiananmen Square, and so on. Residential areas are on the Southern side of the city, and the outskirts. The eastern side is more of an entertainment and shopping zone, the northern part is more industrial and has all the new Olympic sites, etc. We made our way to the hotel, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I have come to expect that accommodations on S@S sponsored trips are usually pretty high-end, as I experienced in Cambodia. However, as we drove to the airport in Hong Kong, our tour operator told us that we had an incredible itinerary but a crappy hotel. So my expectations were set low. This was further strengthened when we heard our hotel was outside the tourism zone. But, when we arrived, it turned out to be pretty darn nice. Beth and I each had our own rooms on the 13th floor, and mine had an awesome view of Tiananmen Square in the distance. Once again, the mattress was as hard as a rock. I don’t know what it is about Asian hotels, but they always have concrete mattresses. I’m a little worried about returning home in Irvine where I have a pillow-top mattress that I love and have been missing for the last 3+ months. Will it suddenly be too soft? Will I find myself sleeping on the floor? Only time will tell. We had a nice relaxing agenda for our first Beijing day. We headed to a duck restaurant for our delux Peking Duck meal, and let me just say it was amazingly wonderful. I could have eaten Peking Duck for every meal in Beijing and been a happy man.

Later, a bunch of the students in my group joined me for a nighttime stroll to Tiananmen Square. It took us about 20 minutes to walk there, but was well worth it since the weather was so nice out. Beijing is the first place where I actually needed my jacket and sweater. The temperature got chilly in the evenings, and was nice and cool during the daytime. I can’t even remember when I last felt cold on this voyage, so it was surely a welcome relief. The square is huge and at night it was pretty empty which made the scale of the area even more impressive. Supposedly over ½ a million people can fit in the square at any time, and it is the largest urban square in the world. I certainly believe it. On one of the buildings off the square is a huge clock counting down the days until the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics. Everyone in Beijing clearly had Olympic fever, and it was fun to get caught up in all of the festivities. There were a number of people milling about and taking pictures of Mao’s tomb, and the other sites in the square, but once 9 o’clock rolled around, a bunch of police cars with flashing lights entered the square and sirens were sounded. It seems that they clear the square in the evening, and it was obvious that they meant business. That was when I first truly felt the grip of Communism on the country. I could feel the history of Tiananmen Square as a real presence on that hallowed ground. In Global Studies, leading up to China, we learned about the struggle to gain civil rights, and the events leading up to the protests in Tiananmen Square. We learned about “tank man,” as he is universally known, the symbol of the protests. We learned that tank man has never made his identity known or tried to use his notoriety to his advantage. We learned that this is not unexpected in a collectivist culture like that in China. We learned about the recent changes in policy in China that has led to increased economic growth and freedom. All of this came flooding back, along with everything else I have come to “know” about China from news bulletins and political rhetoric back in the US. As we walked back to our hotel, the students started to talk about how little they really knew about the government in China, or what Communism really meant for the Chinese. Being the former Government major and employee that I am, I gave them a primer on comparative government and brought them up to date on Chinese history of the last 30 years. It was definitely weird to be describing things I distinctly remember from the news, that isn’t at all a part of their reality. We learned that in China, there is a whole generation of Chinese youth who are just as alienated from their own history. The government has worked to actively shield them from coverage of the events of the last 20 years that doesn’t portray the government in a positive light. Again, just such a different reality than what I know in the United States.

Our second day in Beijing began by returning to Tiananmen Square in the daylight hours. It was a whole different world during the day. The square was packed full of people. There were tourists, like ourselves, snapping pictures. There were military units marching in formation back and forth across the square (which was pretty damn intimidating). There were tons of vendors trying to sell kites, and watches with Mao’s arms on the face, and big fur hats with a Communist star, to anyone who would pay attention. Intermingled with all of these people were some local Chinese families, oftentimes flying kites or enjoying the morning in the public square. As we entered the Tiananmen Square area Ivy cautioned us that we should not have any conversations about Mao, Communism, the current government, or compare China to the US. Basically she told us to avoid any political conversations at all, and went further to advise against making any criticisms of China while in the Square. She told us that there were always people in the crowd listening for subversive comments, and scanning the people present for those who might cause a negative influence. Her words were ominous, and though I never really felt like “big brother” was listening, the Communist presence was undeniable. Eventually, we moved on from Tiananmen Square and passed through the Gate of Heavenly Peace, and the huge painting of Mao, the “honorable leader.” It was fun taking pictures with Mao (the picture, not the corpse), but strange to see so many people, especially local Chinese people, revering the image of a man who represents so much that Americans fear.We continued on to the Forbidden City, and walked through the courtyards and checked out all the temples. There is some amazing architecture in that place. I especially like how the Emperor created a man-made mountain behind the city, and a faux river in front in order to bring feng shui to the palace complex. Also the main buildings are set on raised diases that look like clouds to make them appear more heavenly. It looked like a great place to live as far as I was concerned, but I know that for the Emperor’s of China, it was a gilded cage from which they could rarely venture. Having now traveled the world, I cannot imagine being imprisoned that way, even in that beautiful city. Because of the upcoming Olympics, the government has put a lot of time and money into restoring all of their main Beijing sites. The Forbidden City is having all of its buildings restored to their original vibrant color. We saw many of the restored buildings, and it really is amazing how colorful they all are. After passing through the huge city complex, we grabbed lunch at a restaurant that served Western Chinese cuisine. It was like a cross between Chinese, Indian, and Middle Eastern cuisine. It was an odd mixture of foods, but still pretty darn good. Following that, we were dropped off at the Sanlitun silk market for a couple hours of shopping. This market was huge! We’re talking 5 floors of shopping stalls selling every kind of knock-off item you can imagine. One thing I noticed was that the women selling items inside the market were ruthless. As you walked down the aisles, they grabbed, cajoled, shouted, and demanded your attention, and for you to make an offer on any and everything. It was sometimes even comical. One woman tried to sell me a brassier claiming that if I really loved my mother, I would buy it for her. I’m serious! I couldn’t help but laugh, even though it got to be a bit much. Beth and I tried to escape by going to the food court floor on the top level, but it was even worse up there. Have you seen the movie “Finding Nemo?” You know the scene with the seagulls who all yelp “mine, mine, mine, mine” endlessly? Well, that’s how it sounded as we stepped off the escalator. About ten women started shouting “hello, hello, hello, hello” and waving us to their counters. One women had a platter with tastes of her food, and she insisted I try them, and then followed me handing me toothpicks of food, even pushing one right up to my mouth. Again, you had to laugh, but it was sensory overload. I was able to make a number of nice purchases, including my own replica of the clay soldiers from Xian, and a Mah Jong set made from Ox bone and bamboo. Eventually we left the market, and boarded two different busses. One took folks back to the hotel before they went to experience the bar scene, and the rest of us went off to see an awesome Acrobatic show. We got to the Chaoyang Theater and Ivy got us seated. She was excited for us because she said that while there were other shows in town, that this one had the most exciting acts. I wasn’t sure what to expect, especially since the theater felt like a high school gymnasium, but once the lights dimmed I was in for a surprise.

The performance felt just like something out of a Cirque du Soleil show. The costumes were bright and colorful, the music was entrancing, and the performers did things with their bodies that I have never before seen in my life. They twisted themselves into pretzel shapes, and were thrown into the air, and did some truly death defying feats. There were many times where the audience audibly gasped, me right along with them. One of the finals acts is a Chinese acrobatics staple, putting 20 people on the same bicycle and then riding around the stage. It was an amazing way to end our first full day in Beijing, and well worth the 25 bucks we paid for the tickets, especially since the same performance in the US would have cost 3 times as much.
The next day we set out for the Great Wall of China. I had been waiting a long time for my time at the Great Wall, and eagerly anticipated my time to commune with the Wall. As we made the two-hour drive out of Beijing Ivy told us that there are a number of spots that tourists visit from Beijing. She shared that the Great Wall was actually a number of walls that feudal lords built which were later connected in one large network. The pieces around Beijing did not even really connect together, but were rather fragments of the original wall. She told us that most people go visit the Badaling section of the Wall, and we later spoke with S@S folks who went there and had to fight their way through crowds of people in order to walk on the Wall. Luckily, Sonya and Ivy brought us to the Mutianyu Section of the Wall instead. When we arrived, we walked past a few stalls selling souvenirs, and then had the option of climbing 1,000 steps from the valley up to the wall crawling along the hill crest, or taking a ski lift device to get to the top. I opted for the stairs, and huffed and puffed up to the wall, but the view at the top was well worth the effort. The Great Wall did not let me down. It was as magnificent as I had imagined, especially when I looked into the distance and could see it stretching as far as the eye could see in both directions. I always pictured the Great Wall to be flat segments connecting look-out towers, but in reality, the sections between towers were usually steep inclines with stairs to climb, with very few flat segments. Climbing on the Wall was a real work out. Since we were so far outside of Beijing, there was very little in the distance to see except the mountains and valleys of rural Hebei province. We climbed around on the wall for a couple of hours, and then it was time to get back down to the buses, and this was possibly the coolest part of the day. In order to get back down the hillside to our buses, we all took toboggans down a slippery metal track. Yep, that’s right we tobogganed down the Great Wall of China. Each individual toboggan had a seat and break so you could control your own speed, but you could get some real speed on that puppy. And the ride lasted a good long time too, since we had hiked so far up the mountain side to get to the Wall. I think that the Great Wall was such a highlight, that leaving it would have been a real downer if the toboggan ride hadn’t been such a fun way to say farewell. After our rollercoaster ride down the mountain, we reboarded the buses and headed back to Beijing where we were dropped off at the pearl market. As you can imagine, Beth and I were kind of done with the shopping thing. We were also not too excited when Ivy told us that this market was even larger than the Silk Market, and that the vendors at the Pearl Market were known for being even more aggressive than at the Silk Market. I expected the worse, and that’s what I got. At one point, one of the vendors grabbed my sunglasses right off my shirt, and refused to give them back to me until I made her an offer on a poster I had looked at. Beth was flabbergasted when she stole the sunglasses, but I found it to be funny. We had been told in advance that we should never pay more than about 10-15% of their original asking price but it was darn tough getting them down to those prices. I was pretty burned out on shopping by the time we left that market. Thankfully we only spent about an hour there before heading back to the hotel. Driving through the streets of Beijing felt very familiar to me. Beijing is a low city, but an impressive one. In that way it reminded me a lot of Washington, DC. There were many broad avenues, with huge impressive monumental buildings and other buildings on a low scale. I saw very few buildings that were over about 13 or 14 floors. The cars and subway system, and all the little neighborhoods really made the city feel like an American city, and oddly like home. I began to be able to see myself living in Beijing. Beijing used to be called Peking, but the name was changed many years ago because Peking was actually a name assigned by the British, and not the true name of the city. However, many of the monuments and sights still bear the name of Peking. I was glad to finally learn the distinction.

Beth and I made arrangements with Ivy to get tickets to an awesome Kung Fu martial arts show that final evening. Ivy said it was the best show in town, and 10 times better than the Acrobatics show we had seen the night previous. Sadly, none of the students wanted to go see it, as they all wanted to “get their drink on” in the Eastern part of the city. Beth and I went with Ivy to the theater and saw a mind-blowing show. This show was a huge spectacular with about a hundred performers telling a story with lavish costumes, and music, and acting, and of course… with impressive Kung Fu displays. Some of the actors were held up on the ends of swords, or lay down on beds of nails. Others broke through huge slabs of concrete, or metal bars with their hands and even foreheads. Every move the martial artists’ made was powerful and beautiful at the same time. The story they wove through the different feats made the whole thing come together in a really cool way. It really was an incredible evening, and again for only $25. Sheesh! After the show, Beth and I parted ways, and I met up with a friend-of-a-friend, Joe, who works for the State Dept. in Beijing and his partner, Rina, who goes to art school in Beijing. They were heading to an apartment party in the Eastern part of Beijing and had invited me along. I ended up spending the evening with the most interesting collection of Fins, Danes, Icelanders, Turks, Brits, and Chinese folks I’ve ever encountered. They were excited to hear all about Semester at Sea, and told me all sorts of stories about art school in Beijing, and traveling through Asia, and the strange customs they brought with them from Scandinavia. Being with Joe and Rina and their friends gave me entré into some of the strangest sites that tourists never see. We hopped around between a few of the more interesting bars in their part of town. One of the bars had a private party we were invited into. Inside, they were showing a kung fu movie on a large screen and had a painter creating a work of art on the movie screen as the movie projected, then in another corner they had hair stylists cutting hair in exchange for drinks. In another corner there were a few Xerox machines set up and patrons were invited to photocopy parts of their body and post them around the bar. In the back there was an art display of erotic fetish artwork on the walls while people played pool and threw darts at the pictures. All of this and strange Chinese acid rock playing in the background, I kid you not. It was the funkiest collection of random bohemian nonsense I have ever seen in one place. I absolutely loved it. We then moved on to a bar that was in the middle of a soccer pitch, and finally one that was in what appeared to be a half burned down tree house that was full of tragically hip young Chinese artists. My night out with Joe, Rina, and their arty crowd was unexpected, crazy, and absolutely brilliant.

Our last day in Beijing began with a trip to the Temple of Heaven. The temple is a main tourist stop and the park surrounding it has recently become one of the most popular for local Beijingers to use as a hang out on the weekends. When we arrived, we walked through the park full of blooming cherry trees and saw all sorts of cool community activities taking place in the park. We passed groups of people doing tai chi, older folks line dancing and swing dancing, groups playing music on local instruments, row after row of men playing a Chinese version of chess, and emphatically throwing down cards in a game I couldn’t quite discern. There were people writing poetry in Chinese characters with water on the ground, people slicing and selling fruit, people twirling ribbons and shiny balls like gymnasts in the Olympics, and people mingling with friends and reading aloud from large books. It was a feast for the eyes, and a lot of fun to see people living their everyday lives and enjoying themselves.

funky chess and ribbon twirlersThe temple itself was beautiful. It is a circular temple with a bright blue roof. It’s also one of the main buildings that is on postcards of Beijing, so I was exciting getting to see it in person. Again, I wasn’t let down. They had a small museum that showed photographs of all the dignitaries and heads-of-state that have visited the site. It was quite an impressive collection, including Nixon, Clinton, Churchill, Thatcher, and others. The temple used to be off limits to women. The circular shape made it one of the holiest of temples, and women were never allowed in them. The square temples we had visited represented the earthly realm, and were open to women, but not the Temple of Heaven, for the longest time. The colors of the building were incredibly bright, since it was one of the recently restored buildings, thanks to the Olympic facelift. We left the temple and after an interesting brunch with some foods we couldn’t identify (but that I ate nonetheless), we were off to the Summer Palace. I didn’t really know what to expect from the Summer Palace, not having seen pictures, or heard much about it. It turns out that we had to drive to the outskirts of the city to the place where past Emperor’s spent some time during the summer months. I expected to find a palace complex like the Forbidden City, but was mistaken. What I found was the biggest man made lake I’ve ever seen, complete with large islands and huge boats sailing around. In the distance was a large hill with a palace perched on the front of it, thus between water and mountain again… so very feng shui. The brightly colored boats, many shaped liked dragons, and the kites in the air, the cool breeze, clear sky, and blooming cherry blossoms made the whole scene appear magical. We walked around the lake and then boarded a dragon ship to sail across and got some great views from the water. I have to admit it was the nicest summer home I’ve ever seen. It must have been a huge feat of engineering just to build the lake, let alone the huge opulent palace high up on the hill. And all of that accomplished many hundred years ago. Sheesh! I wandered around and enjoyed the sights, ate some ice cream, and eventually we boarded the buses again. Ivy was nice enough to have the driver bring us past the new Olympic Stadium and Swimming Complex to get a peek at the venues. The new Olympic Stadium is going to be incredible. Native Beijingers refer to it as “the bird’s nest” and are not fans of the design, but I think it was stunning. There are bands of metal that wrap around the stadium in a seemingly random fashion, but in a way that still seems to make sense. It actually does somewhat resemble a bird’s nest… well, more like a futuristic interpretation of a bird’s nest. I know that the metal bands extend over the top of the stadium and that there is a hole in the center that is open to the air, which probably makes it appear even more like a bird’s nest from the air. I really liked it, and can only imagine that when it is finished and lit, the effect will be truly dramatic. The TV coverage is really going to be impressive. But, I’m already anticipating that the coverage of Beijing will be a feast for the eyes.

Once we left the Olympic complex on the northern part of the city we had an awful dinner before heading to the airport. When I say it was awful, I mean that even I had a hard time finding things to eat. It was all weird takes on American foods. Not what I wanted when in China. Grrr… Eventually, we said our goodbyes to Sonya, Ivy, and Beijing and flew east to Qingdao. I was excited to get to Qingdao because one of my friends from home, Chris, did a study abroad there and told me how nice of a city it was. I was looking forward to seeing the beautiful city he had described to me. However, our drive in from the airport showed an industrial, desolate, and deserted city. Plus, our ship was docked at the most industrial port we’ve yet experienced. We were literally dodging freight trains and Semi trucks as we walked to and from the ship. Quite a few people described Qingdao as Chernoble after a glance. I didn’t explore the city that first night b/c I had my final on-call night on the ship. It seems that was the right move b/c most of the folks who did go out still had that nuclear fallout impression after being out and about in Qingdao. When I woke on that last day in China, I was determined to find the beauty in Qingdao. I set out for a post office to mail my postcards and then found a taxi driver to being me to the shoreline area in the middle of the city. This was not an easy process. All through my time in China I discovered that few people speak English, and in Qingdao, it was almost none. After more than a few games of pantomime I got to the water and was dropped off at a huge park that was teeming with local Qingdaons. Being a Sunday, the park was packed with people enjoying their weekend and the somewhat new sculpture of whirling rings. They were flying kites, and watching wind surfers, and eating street food. I quickly learned that Qingdao sport enthusiasts either wind surf, fly kites, sail competitively, or do competitive in-line skating. Qingdao will be hosting the sailing events for the Olympics, but what I found most interesting was the many little competitions where troupes of in-line skaters would compete with finesse moves down a line of traffic cones. The posses were decked on in full regalia. We’re talking matching Member’s Only jackets, and sweat bands, or embroidered t-shirts. They were quite the spectacle, but each little competition had a crowd around it, and the skaters did have some incredible moves. I spent a bunch of time watching them before moving on the browse the shopping stalls. I didn’t really see much that I wanted to purchase, but the walk along the shore was very picturesque. Somehow, Qingdao has developed a heavy German influence, and that was pretty apparent in the architecture, which was full of gabled houses, and European tiled roofs, etc. Much of the art work was German as well. I walked through a busy park that had busts and statues of famous German composers. Seeing all the German influence was actually pretty weird considering I never really saw anyone who looked German. Just Chinese. I wandered around the Aquarium, and the Naval Base, and some of the commercial and social promenades, and had little pantomime conversations with people who seemed pleased to see a westerner enjoying their city. At one point, I sat on a wall overlooking the water eating some ice cream (it was SO cheap in China… I ate a ton) when a little family came over. The father thrust his baby boy on my lap and sat their daughter down next to me to take some pictures. The funny thing about this, is that I’d been looking in a different direction and hadn’t seen them approach, so I almost dropped the boy on my lap b/c I didn’t see him coming. It was also pretty funny, b/c the kids wanted nothing to do with me, and were not pleased to be perched on my lap, or near me. The parents just kept smiling and snapping pictures, and asking me questions. I replied with my standard 3 phrases in Mandarin “Ni hao (hello) xie xie (thank you) zaijian (good bye) and numbered them so they knew I only knew these three phrases. They laughed and shared my ignorance with a few of the others nearby. They all laughed with me and smiled at how cute my language ineptitude was. I have to admit, I was amused as well. Later, a man approached me and asked me where I was from. When I told him I was from the United States, he looked pleased, and then asked me if I spoke Spanish. That seemed a bit strange to me, and I asked him if he spoke English. He told me that he only knew a few words, so I switched into Spanish and he and I had about a 20 minute conversation… in Spanish… in China. This was definitely one of the more surreal moments on the journey, but what I learned was that he was in University, and had elected to study Spanish in order to be able to translate with people from Latin America. He was fascinated to hear about my life in Southern California, and he shared with me about what college life was like in China. When I told him about the Semester at Sea program, and that I work with college students, he put his hand on my shoulder and tried to say “Virginia Tech.” He didn’t have adequate Spanish (or English) to say any other words of sympathy, but I got his point clearly. It was a really touching moment. In that one gesture, this man I never met, and with whom I had shared a brief conversation conveyed so much. I would be lying to say I wasn’t moved.While wandering around, I did what I consider a cardinal sin on a journey of this nature. I went into a McDonalds. Now before you berate me and curse me for being an ugly American, I have to say that I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t feel like exploring the chancy pay toilets in Qingdao. I purchased a Coke and used the facilities, but that was it. What I ate for lunch instead was octopus skewers, and pork buns from street vendors. They were pretty darn good. I was pretty happy with the sites I saw in Qingdao, but I headed back to the ship somewhat early b/c it got pretty cold, and I was tired of walking around. We had a somewhat uneventful on-ship time with almost everyone showing up, and our stragglers not far behind. It’s always nice to have everyone on board quickly. It means that the Student Life staff get to spend some quality time in Studio 7 (Faculty/Staff Lounge) playing Hearts of Trivial Pursuit and catch up on our travels. I’m really going to miss these folks when the voyage is over. Grrr.

Well, as I finish this entry, we are about to cross the International Date line, and repeat Wednesday, May 2 for the second time. How many people in the world can say that they lived the same exact day twice? Well, you’re reading the blog of one of them. How cool, huh? I’ve decided to treat it like Groundhog’s Day (the movie) and wear all the same clothes and do the same exact things. If I can help it, I’m even eat the same things and have the same conversations. HA! This is going to make up for all of the 23 hour days we’ve been having. We’re also going to go from being 19 hours ahead of everyone in AZ & CA, to being 5 hours behind you instead. Neat, huh? Anyways, I promise to work on getting my Japan blog done and up before we hit Hawaii. That way I can be more reflective about the voyage on our last leg towards home. I’m trying hard not to be that way yet, b/c I know it will just depress me. As it is, I’m in complete denial that we’ll be arriving in San Diego in 11 days. UGH!

I send my love to everyone back in the states.
XOXO
-Drew

Tåm Biêt Vietnam, Lia suhn hao-y Cambodia!

2007-04-21T13:06:00.000-07:00

Vietnam. Hmmm… how does one begin discussing a country that has such a history of violence and horror tied to it? I had so many expectations about what I would find when I arrived in Vietnam. I expected to see a land ravaged by war, and people who were stuck in poverty and squalor. I expected to see the perils of the Vietnam conflict playing out before my eyes, 30 years after the fact. What I actually encountered was completely unexpected. Sure we learned a lot about Vietnam, and about Cambodia in the days approaching the port, but this time, it was about teaching these college students about the history that feels immediate for most of the people working on the ship. I don’t remember the Vietnam conflict, or the Khmer Rouge from my childhood, but I remember Vietnam and Cambodia being in the news. I remember all the talk of reconstruction and political relationships and all the reports in the aftermath of the violence in both countries. So, even for me… the evil association with these countries is real and was difficult to set aside before disembarking in Ho Chi Min City (Saigon). Some of the strangest moments I had in Vietnam were when I forgot where I was. I would just be enjoying a bowl of Pho (AWESOME soup that I’ve grown to love in the states) or I’d be shopping for cheap polo shirts, and then I would stumble across a Vietnamese flag shirt, or a VC officer’s cap, or a war remnant and the realization would flood back. I was in Vietnam! It was exhilarating, dizzying, and definitely brought along mixed emotions.

I only spent my first and last days of the port stay in Vietnam. In the middle I was traveling in Cambodia on an S@S trip. But during my time in Saigon, I wanted to experience as much of Vietnam as I could. I decided to spend my first day immersing myself into the culture, and orienting myself to the city, I find if I do that early, it makes it easier to move around like a local (or as close to that as possible) for the rest of the port stay. I woke early to stand on Deck 7 and watch as we made our dramatic entrance into Ho Chi Min City. Yes, I know I am using HCMC and Saigon interchangeably, but so does everyone else. To get to the port in Saigon we had to sail up the Mekong River to the city itself. The journey up the Mekong actually took a couple hours, and was fascinating. We passed countless small fishing vessels, from which local fishermen would wave and greet us. We passed rice paddies, and refineries, and even small villages. I had to go down into the ship for part of the trip up the river, and when I reemerged, we were at the port and in the middle of a huge and extremely cosmopolitan city. Once the ship was cleared and I took the shuttle from the pier into downtown I was astounded by what I found. Saigon is incredibly modern, and western, and so busy. We passed Gucci and Louis Vuitton, and Burberry. We passed luxury hotels, and posh looking spas. There were trendy boutiques, and vendors on the streets selling cheap touristy gear. In many ways, it felt like NYC or Philly. Where was the depressed economy we had heard so much about? Where were the remaining ravages of war? I certainly didn’t see them. Everywhere we went we were welcomed by waving children or women in conical straw hats giving out flyers, or older Vietnamese folks selling silk scarves. They were happy to see us, happy to have us in their city. Yes, they clearly wanted us to spend our money, but there was no animosity, no sign that any connection was made between me and the Americans who brought so much violence decades earlier. It was so strange for me that the conflict weighed on me so heavily, but on them so lightly.I spent the afternoon walking around with Mindy, Lesley, and Shayla. We shopped and walked around the city exploring the streets of downtown. Lesley found a tailor and ordered her bridesmaid dresses and groomsman shirts for her September wedding, and Shayla got measured for a couple dresses with fabric she bought in India. Eventually, we made our way to the huge Ben Thanh Market. This place is a gigantic warehouse market full of stalls selling every imaginable item of clothing, shoe, soap, cologne, gadget, souvenir, and knick-knack imaginable. Everything was for sale, but none of it was real. Everywhere you looked there were knock-off brand names. I bought knock-off Lacoste golf shirts, knock-off Polo golf shirts, knock-off cologne (which turned out to be crap), and even a big knock-off North Face bag to pack some of my souvenirs. I would never have gone so shopping crazy, but everything was so damn cheap! The Vietnamese currency is called the “dong” (insert dirty joke here). 1 US dollar is worth 16,500 dong. So when my friend Mindy went to the ATM to take out a hundred dollars, she was suddenly a millionaire when 1,600,000 dong came popping out. Because the currency is so devalued, nothing is expensive. I had a couple meals, full ones at that, for less than $2. How crazy, huh? And of course, the vendors are always happy to take your American currency. In fact, oftentimes, they preferred it because they got a better return on the dollar than they did on the dong.

As I wandered through the market, vendors were selling fabric everywhere and always trying to hawk their wares. They were always shouting “for you, I give good price,” or “I give you discount if you buy now.” They were slick sellers. If I showed even the slightest interest in something, they pounced. If they sensed I liked something, they would immediately grab 4 other items that resembled it and try to get me to buy all of them. That’s when they would use a line that has since become a big running joke on the ship. They would show you these items and declare “same same, but different.” That confused me at first, but then I began to see they were trying to provide options so that you never had a reason to find any flaws, and thus get out of buying their stuff. I managed to deftly side-step a lot of the vendors on my journey for the perfect souvenir. For some reason, I had the goal of having a suit tailor-made for me while in Vietnam. Why? I’m not 100% sure. I already own a couple of suits, but it is one of the things to do in Vietnam. So as I wandered around in Ben Thanh Market, I stumbled across a bunch of male S@S students in a small narrow stall looking at fabric. I stopped to say hello, and the woman working the stall grabbed me and asked if I was part of their group. The guys all said that I was, and she said, “Ok, I give him deal too if you all buy now.” It turns out that the guys were each purchasing suits for $75. You chose the fabric, and then went with her to the tailor, just outside of the market place for the measuring and fitting. I figured it couldn’t hurt me to look at her fabric selection to see what I thought, right? Especially considering her price was better than any other I had heard so far. Her stall did have many nice fabrics, and eventually I found a few pinstripe fabrics that appealed to me. While I was looking around, the college guys kept asking for advice about what colors to buy and what fabrics were of quality and which weren’t. Later, I somehow became the guru for about 15 different guys helping them select the cut of their suit and what colors and patters to buy, etc. I think I steered them all in the right direction, and am glad that they see me as a snappy dresser, or at least enough to trust my judgment. Anyways… I eventually found a fabric I really liked… a navy blue with a subtle light blue pinstripe. It was listed as being cashmere wool, and was by far the one I liked best, and it didn’t hurt that it also had a more expensive tag on it. I pulled it out and handed it to the woman in charge. Then we played this strange game where she kept trying to get me to look at other far inferior and cheaper fabrics that were similar and demanding they were better, nicer, more suited for a younger guy, etc. She would drape two fabrics over me and ask a couple people for their judgments trying to make me choose the inferior fabric. When I held my ground, she turned her back and suddenly the fabric in her hand was no longer the one I had originally selected. I saw her kick it under a chair while she asserted the one she held was the one I had picked. I kept smiling and pulled the fabric out from behind the chair and reiterated it was the one I wanted. Now I should say that I found this whole process to be very humorous. Sure, I wanted a suit, but I felt no pressure to get it, and I certainly wasn’t going to allow myself to get screwed in the process. So, when she played her games, I was OK because I knew I could walk away in the end. When I brought the fabric back out, she looked frustrated and spoke in Vietnamese to the woman next to her and then told me there wasn’t enough material to make a whole suit. Then she handed me a different cheaper fabric. I handed it back to her and turned to go. Then she angrily stopped me and said they had more fabric and could make the suit, but that it would be more expensive. The whole time, the S@S students are watching and trying to pick their suits and were laughing because we all know exactly what she was trying to do. I told her that we had already agreed on a price and then walked away again. Before I could get very far, she grabbed my arm and acquiesced. I think she did it mostly because the other men were picking cheaper fabrics and had been asking me so many questions she feared losing all their business.

When we all had our fabrics, we headed over to the tailor to be measured. The tailor’s shop was full of even more S@S students with their fabrics. They had all agreed on prices that exceeded ours, which made me feel pretty good. Also, many of them were selecting their fabrics from sample books, and there wasn’t as big a selection, or as nice fabrics in my opinion. When it was my turn to be measured, I was surprised at how many different measurements were taken. Then it was time to make all sorts of decisions. The cut, the number of buttons, one slit or two? Pocket placement? Flat front or pleated? Etc. I surprised myself by having definite opinions about each of these and was pretty pleased with the suit I selected in the end… and for only $75?!? I paid and agreed to come back for my fitting that night before leaving for Cambodia the next day. I made my way back to the ship and met up with some folks for dinner. In the end about 30 staff members form the ship ended up dining in an awesome restaurant called Blue Ginger, which had great and authentic Vietnamese cuisine, and live music played in the room with us. It was a lot of fun. During dinner I ducked out for my fitting and took a moto back and forth and didn’t miss any of the fun. Gotta love that! Then it was a stroll around the night market with Shayla, Dia, Mindy, and one of our students Lydia. It ended up being an early night since the following morning I was off to Cambodia.

A word about transportation in Vietnam: One of my favorite things to do in Saigon was to cross the street. I sometimes invented reasons to cross the street because it was so much fun. I’m not kidding… walking across the streets was actually a tourist activity in and of itself. Saigon is a city of about 6 million people, and about 4 million motor scooters. They are EVERYWHERE. There is a constant hum of motor engines revving, and scooters zipping around you. It never stopped. Thy bikes took up every lane of the roads, and were always jamming the intersections. When you wanted to cross the street, you just made looked straight ahead, said a prayer, and committed to making it across. You don’t wait for a break in the traffic, and you don’t look both ways (b/c that would only serve to scare the crap out of you). You just close your eyes and GO! It’s unnerving to see all the motor scooters coming straight at you, but the etiquette is that the bikes just move around you as you walk. As long as your pace is constant, they just maneuver around and you somehow get to the other side unscathed. It was the most exhilarating thing. I loved it. Cross walks be damned! My favorite way to travel around the city was by moto. Taxis are not too prevalent, and the cyclos (bike rickshaws) are too slow. Most people go by moto. The motos are motor scooters/cycles where you just haggle with the driver and then hop on the back of his bike and off you go. They are regulated, and all wear the same purple shirt, so it’s easy to identify them, but were so much fun. I’d never been on a motorcycle before b/c my Mom is a nurse and has always referred to them as “donor cycles.” But whizzing along on them, clutching to the driver as he weaved in and out of the Saigon traffic, I can see the appeal. Lucky for me, I avoided the awful 2nd and 3rd degree muffler burns that many of our students got as a souvenir from their rides. Riding on the motos was by far the cheapest, quickest, and most enjoyable way to move around the city. Plus, it’s how the natives travel… and doing things authentically always helps me feel more engaged in the experience.

My trip to Cambodia began bright and early the following morning. I was a bus leader working with Ron & Jane Wisner, who are the Asst. Dean and Dependant Children Coordinators respectively. On our trip we had about 35 students and 25 parents traveling with us. That was both awesome, and unnerving. Our students are used to the process of S@S trips and understand how things run, but the parents do not. It took some time orienting them to how things work, and also to help them understand the need for flexibility in our travel plans. Having them around really highlighted for me just how much I and our students have changed as a result of our journey. Crossing international borders and negotiating foreign airports, currencies, and languages has almost become second nature, but really flustered many of the parents. When we arrived in Phenom Penh I found it to be similar to Saigon in how cosmopolitan it appeared. There was a greater sense of depression and a more urgent need for community rehabilitation as a result of the more recent atrocities that took place there, but it was surely not the destroyed city I expected to find. At one point, one of the parents came over to my lunch table and commented to me and some students “can you believe this place” referring to Cambodia. We all replied that yes, it was pretty amazing, meaning that it was beautiful and exotic, and cosmopolitan. The mother went on to say how disgusted she was at the poverty she saw and the squalor she perceived to be so terrible. The students and I exchanged a perplexed look, and I had to explain to her that after seeing the favelas in Brazil, the townships in South Africa, and the reality of life in India we had very different notions of poverty. What we saw in Cambodia was very different than what she saw. That moment was a real eye-opener. I’m happy that I saw things differently than she did, that my perspective has become more worldly, and my ideas less western or American. Traveling with parents was also interesting because meeting these parents shed a lot of light on how and why their children behave the way that they do. I mean this in both the most positive and negative of ways.

In Phenom Penh we explored the Royal Palace where the reigning monarch lives in amazing splendor. The buildings were decked out with gold and jewels and all sorts of decoration. The surroundings were lavish and right out of a movie or picture book. It seemed that every vantage point was a new exotic postcard view. Everything I saw reminded me of pictures I have seen of Thailand, with the same style of architecture and roofs. I was going to comment on that when our guide Wanthy explained that the Khmer culture was stolen long ago by the people in Siam (current Thailand). Everything that is famous about many of the other Southeast Asian countries really find its basis in Khmer culture. This fascinated me. Sadly the same Khmer culture is now scarce in Cambodia as a result of the killings done by the Khmer Rouge.

After visiting the opulent palace our group took a cruise down the Tonlé Sap River to the confluence with the Bassac and Mekong Rivers. All along the water were people living in huts that are built on stilts. We learned that they were all recently displaced because the land along the water has been bought and is to be redeveloped into a huge resort and casino complex. Progress and innovation come to Cambodia, or so they say. Seeing these people living on the water, and rowing their small boats along, fishing for their meal, and enjoying the company of their families was really touching.

Later that night we had an amazing dinner of Khmer cuisine with spring rolls, and steamed noodle dishes, and wok barbequed meats. There was so much, and so many choices it’s a wonder we didn’t all gain 20 lbs. At the end of the meal we were served ice cream in 2 flavors. One turned out to be red bean, and the other was durian. Durian is a fruit that “smells like hell but tastes like heaven”. After one bite almost everyone there was scraping their tongues with their napkins, but I gotta tell you, I loved the stuff. I couldn’t get enough. To me it tasted like a milkshake crossed with cookie dough. No one else seemed to understand. I was also a big fan of the dragon fruit. The fruit looks like a dragon on the outside with pink/red curls coming off the green spherical shape. Inside, it is bright white with tiny black seeds all thorough it. The fruit is the texture of kiwi and has a similar sweet taste. It was good stuff. I ate it at every meal in Cambodia.

While our first day in Cambodia was full of wonder at the opulence of the palace, and the culture of life along the Mekong and Tonlé Sap, the second day was depressing and dark. Our first stop was to the Toul Sleng Museum which was once a high school before the Pol Pot regime (short for Political Potential) turned it into a concentration camp run by the Khmer Rouge. Almost every resident of Toul Sleng eventually was slaughtered in the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek, which we visited later that day. As we walked through the school we saw the small cells where people were kept, the rooms and devices that held and tortured them, and walls full of their faces in prisoner photos. The Cambodians do not employ any subtlety in the telling of their history. Every detail is put forth bluntly, and in detail, with pictures. I, and all the others, were speechless as a result of what we saw. Following our visit to Toul Sleng, we made our way to Choeung Ek and the Killing Fields. I have to admit, I was afraid to go to this place because of all it represented. Not having been to any holocaust sites in Germany, this was the closest I’ve ever been to a genocide, and I didn’t know how I would handle it. The first thing you encounter when you arrive at the Choeung Ek is a huge white stupa, or memorial tower. As you get closer you realize the stupa has glass walls and is filled with shelves holding human skulls, over 8,000 in total. It was one of the most horrific sites I have ever encountered, especially when you look closely and recognize that many of the skulls bear witness to the fact that they were bludgeoned to death for the sake of saving precious bullets. It is estimated that over 17,000 bodies lie in Cheoung Ek. No ones knows the exact number because of the 129 mass graves on the site only about 70 of them were opened before the workers stopped. They were not able to identify the bodies, and there was no proper way to deal with all of the carnage, so they simply left the rest of the sites in tact. As we wandered the site, we found areas labeled in grisly detail. We saw the trees against which children were beaten to death, and the place where they hung the speakers used to play music that drowned out the screams of victims as they were being beaten to death. Wandering the paths was difficult because you quite literally stumbled across human bone and clothing poking from the churned ground. Again, many of us were struck dumb. Cambodia went from a nation of almost 7million people to one of just over 4 million in a matter of a couple of years due to these mass killings. Without fail, those killed were the educated, the politically active, the cultured class. They were students, and teachers, and doctors, lawyers, artists. They were all labeled as subversive and either fled, or were killed. Those left have tried to piece together their heritage during the last few decades, and to do so under the specter of this gruesome past. Many of those who fled have never returned for fear that the violence could somehow resurge. That reality is so distant from my own, it was almost too difficult to grasp… almost, but not quite. Even a couple weeks later, I am not sure how to make sense of what I saw there.
As we wandered Cheoung Ek, there were a number of children waving at us through the fence begging for money. They have become accustomed to western tourists and are savvy enough to demand money in exchange for their posing for a picture. While they knew enough English to say “one, two, three, smile” there were no smiles from these kids, and their affect was completely flat. Considering the surroundings I didn’t see much to smile about either. They seemed like the oldest 8 year olds I ever met due to what they have seen in their lives. I took a couple pictures with them, and gave them a few dollars but felt strange about doing it. It’s the same dilemma I encountered in India. Who is it okay to give to? When is it okay to give, and when does it just do more harm? I want to help people that need it, but really resented the demands for money in order to take a picture. In some ways I felt manipulated. I felt guilty, which is why I ended up reaching into my pocket. It was not a nice feeling, as you can imagine. But, people need to survive, right? These girls couldn’t help the situation they were born into. They were just trying to persevere and provide for themselves. Still no conclusions there, but I’ll keep thinking on it.When we left the Killing Fields we drove to a shopping mall, and somehow that just felt wrong. When we arrived at the Russian Market, many of the parents on our trip went hog wild, and so did many of the students. We spent only about 45 minutes at this market that was once frequented by the Russian visitors to Phenom Penh (hence the name), but the parents on the trip complained about the lack of appropriate shopping time. For their benefit we built more shopping time into the itinerary later, but it still felt strange to change gears so quickly. After some lunch we took a quick trip to the National Museum to see ancient Khmer artwork which combined elements of Hinduism and Buddhism. It was very interesting to see how the two were combined and sometimes practiced together in ancient times. After the art tutorial, we all headed for the airport and our flight to Siem Reap, the home of Angkor Wat, one of the 7 Wonders of the World. Our first stop in Siem Reap was Angkor Wat itself. The palace complex is astounding. It is the largest religious building on Earth, and is easily one of the most inspired and spectacular monuments ever conceived of by the human mind. This city, with a moat that would make any European castle blush, was once home to a population of over a million people at a time when London was a hamlet of less than 50,000. The palace complex was hidden for hundreds of years and was swallowed by the jungle when the Angkor empire fell into decline. It wasn’t until the early 1900’s that it was “rediscovered” and restored to today’s present state. While we were not able to enter the complex the first evening, the place boggled my mind. It looms in front of you as you approach it, and just continues to grow with each step. The jungle surrounding it makes it appear even more mysterious. The entire time I was in Siem Reap and around the temples, I felt like I had stepped into an Indiana Jones or Lara Croft movie. The entire place looked like a movie set but real and in 3-D Technicolor, right in front of me. The next morning, many of us returned for a dawn visit. I got a bunch of great pictures of the sun rising over the temple complex, and then explored the main buildings, climbed up the steeeeep stairways and enjoyed the exquisite bas relief sculptures. I couldn’t shake that movie hero/archeologist feeling. It was intoxicating. Later in the day, we returned to the temple complex, but also visited other nearby sites, including Ta Prohm, which is a complex that has huge towers with 4-faced Buddha sculptures and buildings where the jungle has become so invasive and ensnared the buildings so much that the trees are now a part of the buildings. This area has been used as a movie set in recent years for Tomb Raider movies, and other action adventures. I knew I had seen them somewhere. Ha! We also spent part of the day checking out the Elephant Terrace, and Angkor Thom, five monumental gates built outside of the Angkor Wat complex. One of the things I found most interesting, is that even though the temples were built as Hindu temples, and later converted and used as Buddhist temples, they are still being used for a religious purpose. Once they were “rediscovered” people began to once again light incense, and lay flowers, and wrap the statues of the gods in saffron cloth. On more than one occasion wizened old Khmers would hand me three sticks on incense and instruct me on the proper way to bow (three times, very low) and show respect before placing the lit incense at the feet of the statues of Buddha. It made the temples feel somehow alive, and not just like hollow ruins that we have seen elsewhere on our voyage. The haze of fragrant incense also made everything seem all the more mysterious and vibrant. I feel that I should try to describe these places as much as I can, but the reality is that I’d do a crappy job. Suffice it to say, they have to be seen to be believed.

I have experienced every port of my voyage through my stomach eating amazing local food and appreciating how people in these countries eat. That continued in Cambodia, but when S@S chooses the restaurant and foots the bill, it means deluxe meals. We had some damn good food in Cambodia. Many of the meals were buffets, but they did not disappoint. I ate all sorts of foods I could not identify (always after popping my Pepto). And loved (almost) every bite. I’m still not sure what animals all the meat came from, and can’t identify what all the fried foods were, but hey… when in Asia, do as Asians do, etc… Our final night in Cambodia, we had dinner with a show. We saw a number of Cambodian youths perform Apsara dances for us. These are folk dances with young couples acting out courtships and flirtations, but the ones I really enjoyed were the traditional Khmer dances with ornate costumes and exaggerated gestures. This was another example of culture that many associate with Thailand, but which originates with the Angkor and Khmer cultures from Cambodia. It was beautiful and exotic and very well done. We learned that the Apsara dancers are all young women who are unmarried virgins. Once a woman is married, she can no longer be an Apsara. Apsara are represented in a lot of the artwork that can be found in the area. I found many statuettes and bas reliefs of these dancers who have been an integral part of the Angkor and Khmer culture for millennia. At the end of their performance, the strangest thing happened. The dancers stood on the stage, like frozen life-sized dolls and the tourists flooded the stage to take pictures with them. At first I was upset at how rude they were, but it seemed to be the norm, and the expected behavior by the dancers and the management. I decided against having my photo taken. It still looked/felt weird to me.

Being in Cambodia, and knowing the country’s reputation, I had expected to stay in some really awful places, and I was ready for that. I figured it would help make the dark history of the nation more real for me. I was very wrong. Semester at Sea doesn’t do shabby when it comes to hotels. Both hotels we used were deluxe and beautiful. In both instances I had suites that are larger than my living room at home, and both with balconies and great views. Each place had doormen greeting us with cold glasses of local fruit juices and cool towels to mop our brows. The ceiling and floors were teak, and the TV showed many cable channels. It almost felt wrong to stay in such luxury. In Siem Reap, it would have been hard to avoid. We passed resort after resort with names like Four Seasons, St. Regis, and Meridian. I guess the tourist economy isn’t doing so poorly in Cambodia… or they’re just really milking Angkor Wat for all they can.

We flew back to Saigon from Siem Reap on Vietnam Air (on prop planes no less, ugh!) which gave us all one more day to explore Vietnam before our departure. One of the most interesting things about traveling between Vietnam and Cambodia was that during both entry and exit for the two countries, my passport was very thoroughly examined. The immigration officials looked from the picture to my face, back and forth for a good 30 seconds each time verifying I was indeed the man in the picture (now 8 years old). They scrutinized the document, the visas, the stamps, etc. They were thorough. It was unsettling to say the least. I feared they would find some flaw and I’d end up in some detention facility somewhere. Anyways, my first order of business when I got back to HCMC was to collect my suit. When I arrived at the tailor and tried it on, I was horrified to find that the pants were too small. The thighs were so tight my legs looked like stuffed sausages and I couldn’t get the zipper up, let alone button them. I was so sad, because I figured this meant they were not fixable, and since they already had my money, I figured I was S.O.L. The jacket was perfectly tailored, but what good is it without the pants?? Luckily, I had spent some time chatting with a few of the people who worked in the tailor shop, and they really wanted to make me happy, so they tried a bunch of different techniques to make the pants fit. I had to return to the shop 4 more times before the pants finally got to an appropriate fit. They aren’t perfect, and if I gain a few pounds, we might have a big problem, but for now they work. I had a couple friends with me the last time I tried them on, and they all seemed to think I looked good. So, I’ll be sporting the new suit for the Ambassador’s Ball in a few weeks. And daaaaamn… I’m gonna look good.

During my final day, I decided to tackle the history of the Vietnam War head on. I signed up to lead an S@S trip to the Cu Chi Tunnels. Cu Chi is an area an hour outside of Saigon where the citizenry rebelled against the American invasion by creating a system of tunnels and then using them very effectively in guerilla warfare against the US troops. When we arrived, we were first shown a movie. The movie was about 10 minutes long and was told from the Vietnamese perspective discussing the peaceful people of Cu Chi who were forced to valiantly protect their land, and rebel against the invading enemy. At first I dismissed the film as propoganda, but it really accentuated for me how differently the “American War” is perceived by Vietnamese. I had never tried to view the war from the other side of the coin, and when I did… I was not altogether comfortable with it. It was too easy to sympathize with the Viet Cong, too easy to see the guerilla fighters as righteous, even though that is quite the opposite of what we learn in American textbooks and movies. Next we visited the tunnel complex, and were shows demonstrations of the traps and killing methods the guerilla fighters used against the Americans. This was another example of a complete lack of subtlety compared to American museums. They were no allusions to violence or injury. The traps were demonstrated using bloodied dummies. They showed exactly how these traps were used, and how effective they were in killing and causing grave harm. You could practically hear the screams of agony from American soldiers caught in them. The entire presentation was done with pride at how effective the techniques were in repelling “the enemy.” Even though I could too easily identify with the victims our guide talked about, I didn’t feel anger towards our guide, or the Vietnamese guerillas he discussed. I somehow felt removed from the whole situation. On some level, I think it was my way of coping with what I was seeing. Later we were invited to crawl through the tunnels to experience what the guerilla fighters went through trying to track and then ambush the American troops. The tunnels were incredibly small. I am a big guy and had to crawl through them, and at times slide on my belly, or find ways to unwedge myself. In a couple of places I was not sure I would be able to get out of the tunnels. And these were in the tunnel sections that had been widened, almost doubled in size for the benefit of tourists like us. To think that the Viet Cong moved around and even lived in these tunnels for months at a time boggled my mind. They definitely proved to be successful tools of war.

Later in our tour, we were invited to buy bullets and then shoot off the rounds in automatic weapons provided in a nearby range. RD Mindy and I both bought a few rounds for an AK-47 and shot them off at the range. I did it because I wanted to see what it might have been like for an American soldier in Vietnam to look through the barrel of a weapon, take aim, and fire. Oddly, it felt just like target practice in Boy Scout Camp as a kid, but with the realization that the weapon I held was made to kill men, and not shoot targets. The entire experience was very humbling. The most upsetting part of the day was that many of the students who were there with us cracked jokes the whole time. They posed or made dirty gestures in pictures with the displays or mannequins, or just generally made asses of themselves. That just seemed to demean the memory of all those who had been killed in the conflict we were there to learn about. In many ways, I wish I had visited the site alone, or with only a few other people. After we left the tunnels, we visited the Vietnamese equivalent of the Vietnam Wall. It was a huge Memorial complex filled with the graves of the local soldiers who died in the conflict at the hand of the Americans. The monument had a huge sculptural relief that depicted the Vietnamese as heros, and the Americans as cruel invaders. Ho Chi Min himself, was depicted prominently as a mythic figure sheltering the huddled masses. It was eerie to see the opposite side of the war memorialized in such a different way than in the United States, where “the Wall” was one of my favorite spaces to visit in DC. It was definitely a morning of reflection.

The afternoon was more lighthearted. Mindy and I had some great cheap street food and Pho back at the Ben Thanh Market and did a little more shopping before meeting up with fellow staff members Lesley, Matt R., and Matt I. We all agreed we wanted to get massages, so off we went to Dong Khoi Street, a trendy area with expensive boutiques and spas. We sifted through the maaany flyers that were shoved in our hands and eventually chose a spa. We asked for massages, and were told to wait. Eventually, they came out and said they were ready for us. We thought we were being led to different rooms, but 4 of us were brought to one small room with 4 massage tables. (Matt I. just got a foot rub). After some awkward glances and questions we figured out that we were all going to receive massages simultaneously. A curtain was drawn between the men’s tables and women’s and we disrobed and lay down. Then 4 ladies came in and began our Thai Massages. This was one of the strangest massages I have ever received. And not just because three of my friends were getting exactly the same massage as me at the same time (we could tell from the same slapping and stretching noises, and all the giggles, grunts, and moans that came out of us). It was so different because I have never been slapped, walked on, elbowed, stretched, bended, or rubbed in so many awkward, invasive, and unfamiliar ways. I loved it. I think we were all worried about just what kind of massage we were going to receive especially how the massage would “end” get it??) But luckily, there was no funny business in these massages. An hour and $9 later, we all rolled out of the spa like wobbly Jello. I think you are bonded for life after being nearly naked and smacked around with people. I surely feel closer to Lesley, Matt, & Mindy as a result. It was the source of many jokes later... especially after our other friends heard about it.

The last few hours in Saigon were spent eating dinner with Dia, Shayla, and a student from the ship. We went to a special restaurant where the owner has discovered the best street chefs from around the city and put them under one roof. Each specializes in one dish, noodles, curries, dumplings, etc. Once you order your food, the waiter moves around the rim of the restaurant and “picks up” your food from the different stations to be served to you. The food was all amazing, and we all felt good that the money was going right back into the community in a beneficial way. It was a nice way to finish out the time in Vietnam.

As I type these last words, I am getting ready to pull into Kobe, Japan. I’m a port behind in my blogging, but feeling reflective as I get ready to explore the final foreign country on our itinerary. I am changing as a result of this ‘voyage of discovery.’ And I think that my time in Vietnam and Cambodia will play a large part in those changes. Let’s hope that Japan, like China & Hong Kong, will continue to do me well. I send my love to everyone back home in the states.

XOXO-Drew

Aegean Sea wins Olympics! (Sea Social, Easter & Passover too!)

2007-04-15T12:11:00.000-07:00

Who woulda thunk it? Certainly not me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sea, and the kiddos who live with me down on Deck 2 are super cool, but prior to Olympics Day they hadn’t really exhibited much spirit. Even the Sea Olympics Captains for my sea were a bit distraught about getting people jazzed about the festivities. The night before the Olympics, many of the seas were getting together to polish their cheers, plan matching wardrobes, and get their face paint ready… but not the Aegean Sea. A bunch of the RD’s were sitting around playing Hearts in Studio 7 (the Faculty Staff Lounge) discussing the chances for their seas. I definitely said that the Aegean Sea had a chance to lose every single competition. But boy did they make me eat my words.

The Sea Olympics events started with Opening Ceremonies and to begin, they played a video of the crepe paper torch traveling around the ship, and finally being marched into the Union by Desmond Tutu, who officially declared the games open. Next came the Sea Chants. The ceremonies started at 9am, and at about 8:45, my sea slowly assembled, looking tired and even hungover after their time in Mauritius. Luckily they were all dressed in green, and a few of the more exuberant women on my sea were getting people hyped. We got stripes applied under our eyes (football style) our of dark green eye shadow and I started to think they might make me proud. Next our team captains, Colie, Natalie & Mike, handed out our team chant. The chant was set to the tune “Holla Back Girl” by Gwen Stefani. The song was tight! (to quote my sea kids). We ain’t no upper deck sea, we ain’t no upper deck sea!.... Ooo, This our ship, this our ship.” It was really funny, and when our turn came, we all marched in chanting “We are the Turtles, T-U-R-T-L-E-S” (B-a-n-a-n-a-s style). It was a big hit, and our chant was the only one that got the audience involved, clapping with us and laughing along with the whole Turtle routine. Plus, it helped that about 55 of my little turtles were up there chanting their little hearts out… even my TFC thug types got into the act. Many of the chants were cute, and the Yellow Sea’s was pretty darn great, but when they announced that the Aegean Sea had won, the Turtles went berserk. I was so proud of them. I’ll be damned if they didn’t take that momentum and immediately go off and win or place top-3 in every single event that morning. They were third in the Tug-of-War, first in Slippery Twister, Second in the Relay Race, First in Juice Pong, and on it went. By the end of the afternoon, the Aegean Sea was in the points for all but 4 or 5 of the 20 or so events of the day. It got to the point that other teams were just trying to beat “those green folks.” I was loving it. The best thing about it was that the second deck crew came together in such great ways. People came to all the different events to support one another, and they were meeting people on their deck that they had never talked to before. Plus, my folks were great about being positive cheerleaders, and not cutting down the other teams or throwing it in anyone’s face that they were winning. I actually heard from a bunch of people who went to their rooms and changed into green and were honorary Aegean Turtles b/c they just liked the vibe of our sea. In the end, there was no contest, we won’t the Sea Olympics with 120 points, and the second and third place teams tied with 70 points. It wasn’t even close. I was beaming with pride for my awesome 2nd deck kiddies. One of the best things to come from out of the whole experience is that my deck has actually gotten some respect as a result. People always thought that being on Deck 2 was a pitiable thing, but now they come down there, and are envious of our Gangway Lobby “Lounge” and all the cool cats who are on my sea. They like the fact that people down on Deck 2 seem to know one another, and are genuinely friendly. I like to think that my presence is a part of that newfound cache for deck 2, but that may be a little too much pride on my part.

Aegean Ninja Turtles in mid-chant!

Turtle Power! Aegean Sea about to kick-ass in another event!

Everyone getting ready for the big Obstacle Course

A couple days after our big Turtle Pride victory, the Aegean Sea had our Sea Social. Each student sea has an opportunity once a voyage to have a sea social in the Faculty-Staff Lounge. It’s a big deal, and they are usually themed events with catered food and music, and a nice party where the students can have fun and mix with the faculty, staff, and life-long learners. I worked with my social chairs to come up with a theme, and despite my suggestions they wanted to go with a Greek mixer old-standby, the Golf Pros & Tennis Hoe’s Party. I nixed the name, but they were persistent, and we ended up on a Preppy 80’s Country Club Affair. I created invites covered in Argyle inviting them to “the” social event of the season, and instructing those attending to wear their “Brat Pack 80’s best” with popped collars, sweaters around their shoulders, pearls… etc . The music was strictly 80’s and tons of fun. My sea came out in full force, all appropriately dressed, and danced their champion booties off. I was super hyped to see that many many of the faculty and staff members came, and even dressed for the theme. They really got into the 80’s theme and music too. We served pot stickers and egg rolls, and had a couple big ice cream cakes proclaiming “Aegean Sea, Spring 2007 Sea Olympics Champions.” I lied and told people I had ordered the cakes before the Olympics b/c I had such faith in them. Ok, so the fib didn’t go over and they all knew I was kidding, but it was funny at the time. During the party, a few of my kids stopped the music and thanked me for everything I had done to bring them together and inspiring them on to victory. They gave me a goodie bag full of Semester @ Sea items from the bookstore, all green (of course!). Normally, the sea socials fizzle out around 10:30 or so, and folks move to AFTer Hours to drink with their friends, but not my sea. They were there till the last song. In fact, I actually had to kick out a bunch of interlopers who tried to crash my sea social. After the party, a bunch of the other staff members told me that it was the best sea social, by far, and that they hadn’t realized how many of their favorite kids were on my sea. Yep, another moment of pride for Drew. Go Turtles!!

All of that happened between Mauritius and India. The two days between India and Malaysia were a blur of activity, and then I had to kick it into high gear for the trip from Malaysia to Vietnam. The first night in Malaysia the Jewish community on board celebrated Passover. I worked with Stephan, the Hotel Director, to make the Seder as authentic as possible for our students. I got a couple awesome recipes from one of our life-long learners, Joyce Greene (who always wears the color green, cute huh?). So the ship’s chef made her Charosets, and Tsimis recipes, and when we walked into the banquet room for the Seder, there was a table set with the hardboiled eggs, matzo ball soup, gefilte fish, parsley, salt water, and all the other accoutrements of a proper Passover Seder (well, except the horseradish, but evidently, you can’t find it anywhere in Asia). A few of our Jewish were struck speechless, and a couple even teared up when they saw the spread. They said they had just resigned themselves not being able to celebrate Passover this year, and instead they were getting to do it much like they did at home. It was quite a gratifying experience. My students Rachel and Jared and Colie put together a nice Seder and amalgamated all their family traditions. There were about 30 people in attendance, and it really did feel like an extended family of sorts. I’m proud to say I was totally in the loop during the whole service, even if I wasn’t able to read any of the Hebrew. Aunt Joan and Uncle Ed would be very proud of their goy nephew, who really was paying attention during all those Passover’s growing up. Once we left Malaysia, the Jew Crew held an event where we put on a Passover Seder for the whole shipboard community. So many people had asked questions about the holiday, and wanted to understand it better, so 5 days into Passover, the Jew Crew did it all again, but this time there were 175 people in attendance, and the Seder had a much greater educational component to it. Everyone who attended learned a lot, and the matzo ball soup was so good, it might have made some converts.

The following morning was Easter, and when you have Archbishop Desmond Tutu on board, that means a big deal. I worked with Dean Larry for the week running up to Easter to plan a big sunrise service led by the Archbishop himself. I set out a sign up sheet to gauge interest and decide if we should hold the service outside on Deck 4 or Deck 7. After a day and a half, we had over 300 names on the list. In the end, almost 500 people signed up to attend the sunrise Easter service. It was not possible to hold the service outside, so we moved it into the Union. The problem is that the Union only holds about 350 people or so. In the end, it worked out because a bunch of the people who originally signed up decided to sleep in instead. The service was really nice. The Archbishop chose the readings and did a really nice sermon. We had communion wine and rolls for the bread, and streamers, and beautiful Indian fabrics laid over the altar table. I typed up the entire mass, and highlighted all the sections for the audience members to read and it was projected on the wall in a powerpoint presentation throughout the service. It turns out that was an essential element b/c a lot of the people who came, were there to see what the whole “Easter thing was all about” and hear the Archbishop speak. Not many were Episcopalians, like the Archbishop, and many more hadn’t been inside a church in years. If the words, and commands (stand, sit, etc) hadn’t been projected, I doubt anyone would have known what to do. The Archbishop selected the hymns as well, and the day before the service we brought together a big group of people so he could teach them to us. I think we all feared that he would end up singing them himself with 350 people looking on. Luckily, our little group did him proud, and it went over really nicely. As an extra side benefit, we even collected $700 for charity through the Easter Service Offering. At the end of the service, each person received a red carnation, and we all walked through the ship to the back deck, and tossed our flowers into the sea. It was a very contemplative gesture, and people said it was quite beautiful. I wish I could take credit for that idea, but it was all Dean Larry.

Yesiree Bob, things have sure been crazy. Today, a day and a half out of Hong Kong, I realized that we have only 29 days left on this ‘voyage of discovery.’ That thought truly depressed me. It has now been my reality for 2 ½ months, and I’m not even close to being ready to give that up. We’ve started discussing plans for the last port, and for our arrival in San Diego. I’m not ready for all that yet. Sure there are moments when I miss my family, or the beach, or my house, or high-speed internet… but overall, I will miss everything I’ve developed here. I have friends on this ship… more and closer friends than I even have in California (sad, huh?). I never get lonely here, because everywhere I go, I find people who make me laugh and who I respect and care about. Well, I guess I need to refocus my energy and suck every bit of goodness out of these last few weeks. I’ll worry about the future and my homecoming later. Until then, I’ll try to get my Vietnam/Cambodia blog up before I hit Hong Kong… call it a goal. We’ll see if it’s attainable or not.

Love to everyone stateside.
XOXO
-Drew

Selamat Tinggal Malaysia

2007-04-11T12:06:00.000-07:00

It’s 4:30am and we are hours away from entering the river that leads up to Ho Chi Min City, and again I find myself needing to blog about my previous port before I step out and experience the next one.

Malaysia was a big surprise. I think I called it a sleeper port earlier in the voyage, and that prediction turned out to be very true. We didn’t know what to expect from Malaysia, and a lot of folks weren’t too excited for this port. I mean, it was sandwiched between India and Vietnam, and just not a place you hear much about. But, everyone’s impressions were very positive. We had our usual crash course about the country in the days leading up to our arrival, but I don’t think we got an accurate perception of Malaysia before we anchored in the harbor. Malaysia is another example of a rainbow culture. India and Brazil, and China are all countries with distinct cultures and traditions but Malaysia wouldn’t fall in that same category. The people are ethnically a mix of Malay, Chinese, and Indian, with a healthy dose of many other southeast Asian heritages. It was an English territory for so long, and that has also really affected the culture that exists there as well. It’s also a very young nation. Throughout our time there the papers discussed the ongoing 50th Anniversary celebrations commemorating Malaysian independence from the British Empire. Imagine that! They’ve only been a sovereign state for 50 years. And during that time Singapore and Brunei seceded from the country to become their own independent states. We learned that the country was hard hit in the tsunami a couple of years back, though not as badly as their Indonesian neighbors. The people in Malaysia are very conservative as one might expect from a predominantly Muslim nation. While Islam is officially the state religion, there is generally great religious tolerance in Malaysia. This came as a big surprise to me. Also, while Malaysia is not a country of great wealth, I didn’t experience the poverty that was so evident in India, and also in South Africa and Brazil. There seemed to be a very strong infrastructure in place in Malaysia.

One thing I discovered is that it was hard to identify anything as distinctly Malaysian. The cuisines were specifically Chinese, Thai, or Indian… as were the clothes. The artwork and temples were always reminiscent of those found in China or India, or other parts of the world. The people I met discussed where their family originated from. It started out as frustrating, but later it was clear that Malaysia really exists at that intersection of Asian cultures. Only the language seemed truly unique to me. The language, Malay, is written using our same alphabet, but the words look like gibberish. I would look up at advertisements and often think to myself that they had made up words or used anagrams because it wasn’t written in a different alphabet so it didn’t really seem all that foreign. That took some getting used to as well. In truth, we weren’t forced to pick up much Malay because almost everyone I spoke with spoke English pretty well. I did manage to learn my requisite phrases. “Terima Kasih” means thank you, and “Sama Sama” is you’re welcome, etc. They were useful around Penang.

Our port of call has always been listed as Penang, and I assumed that was the name of the city we would arrive to in Malaysia, but was surprised to learn that Penang is really the name of an island off the Malay peninsula. The port city was the city of George Town, on the island of Penang. Penang itself is only about 70 square miles, and I actually never left it. During our say in Malaysia, many of our students traveled to Kuala Lumpur. I thought about getting one of the cheap flights myself, but the more I learned about Penang, the more I learned that it was a good microcosm of Malaysia, so I stuck around. In the end, I feel like that was a good decision b/c the students who visited KL (as it is universally known) reported that they visited mosques, did some great shopping, saw some Buddhist temples, and enjoyed the expensive hotels and Starbucks coffee. In Penang, I got to see a few mosques, including the huge state mosque, Buddhist temple complexes (including the largest one in Southeast Asia), I shopped and dined, and really wanted nothing to do with deluxe hotels and Starbucks. So I felt like I didn’t miss anything but a view of the famed Petronas Towers.

In Malaysia, we all got the wonderful experience of tendering from the ship. What this means is that the ship cannot dock at the port, so instead we weigh anchor out in the harbor and then use small ferries to shuttle back and forth to the dock. The ferries we used were actually the life boats for the MV Explorer. In theory this sounds like it would be somewhat romantic. I know I initially pictured gondolas gliding up next to the ship and then casually bringing us ashore. In practice, it was really a pain in the posterior. Each tender boat can hold about 75 people, and they really only ran a couple at a time. This meant that when you wanted to go ashore, you inevitably had to sit and wait for the tender to arrive, or wait for it to fill up enough to warrant making the trip across the water to the ship or the pier. To make matters worse, Malaysia was frickin’ humid! Humidity is something I have just come to accept on this trip. Sweating doesn’t bother me in the context of visiting an exciting new city, or hiking in an amazing place. But when you’re just sitting and waiting for the tender to go and forming a puddle around you… the fun just seems to elude you. But, I tried to remain positive about it, especially for the students who had endless complaints about the process. The good thing about it, was that once the tender arrived at the pier, we were pretty much in the downtown area. We didn’t have to make a hike or schlep ourselves in from some industrial pier, like we’ve had to do in some of our other ports.
The first morning of our arrival, almost everyone on the Student Life and Admin Team were on overnight trips or were sick in bed, so that left a very small skeleton crew of us to handle immigration and clearing the ship, while also facilitating the tender process with 800 people who didn’t really “get it” at first. That was pretty interesting. I became a Student Life team of one, and had to recruit dependent spouses and faculty to help hand out passports I even got to act as “the voice” for a little while, and called student seas to come collect their documents and then meet their tender groups. It was hectic, but fun. Once the ship was cleared, and most of the students had tendered off, I went ashore with a few fellow staff members. We walked around George Town for awhile and got a feel for the city. My initial impressions were that it was so clean. This was true everywhere I went on the island. There was not the filth or trash hat I experienced in the last few ports. Even in the most industrial parts of the city, things were clean and orderly. This came as a surprise to me because whenever I had something I wanted to throw away, I couldn’t find a dumpster. Other observations: Malaysians are some of the nicest and most genuine people I have ever met. Everywhere we went they would engage us in conversation. They really wanted to know who we were, and where we were from. They wanted to hear stories about our travels, and welcome us to Malaysia. Just walking down the street, people were constantly stopping us just to say hello and shake our hands to welcome us. Now, Malaysians are also very quiet people. We were warned that, as Americans, we would be perceived as loud and abrasive. I definitely saw many of our students being loud and I also saw the reactions that brought out in the people in Penang. Sometimes it was humorous, and other times, not so much. Being very conscious of how loud and extroverted I can sometimes be myself, I had to keep myself in check and not be so loud and boisterous. That first afternoon, we walked around the port city and ate some great Chinese food, shopped in Little India for all those items we didn’t get in Chennai, and ate samosas. We also checked out the Kompleks Komtar. In the middle of George Town a tower, the Komtower, stands at 65 stories tall. Not big by NYC, or even KL standards, but far taller than anything else in GTown where buildings usually top out at about 4 stories or so. The Komtower is referred to as the Pearl of Asia, but I am as a loss as to why. It didn’t really strike me as all that impressive. The mall attached was huge, and full of boutiques where young Malaysians could buy urban hipster type of clothing. Eventually, we walked back to the ship and did some souvenir shopping along the way. I had to be back early b/c I was on call that first night, but also because it was the first official night of Passover, and I was organizing the seder for our Jewish community. Penang, being predominantly Muslim did not offer much in the way of Jewish services, so we took care of their needs on board. More about the seder in my next long overdue “ship life” blog entry… which at this point will have to wait till after Vietnam (sorry).

The second day, I was on my own. Most of the staff were away on trips by that point, and I wanted to get out of George Town and see more of the island. I decided not to waste too much time traveling, so I opted to grab a taxi and drive out to the beach town of Batu Ferringhi. Batu Ferringhi turned out to be a quaint and sleepy little village with a couple little resorts and a bunch of cheap guest houses. The beach itself was less than paradise. I did manage to take a dip in the waters of the Bay of Bengal but didn’t stay in very long because; a) the water wasn’t very clean, b) the water was too warm to be soothing, and c) there were jellyfish everywhere… and not the fun kind either. One of our Professors got stung so badly she sustained jellyfish poisoning and was bedridden for almost 3 days with horrible shock. I did, however, go parasailing, and treated myself to a reflexology massage right there on the beach. My masseur was a man named Edwin, who was of Indian descent, but was born on Penang. He seemed to know what he was doing, but he was the most chatty masseur I have ever met. He talked incessantly. At first, I was frustrated because I really just wanted to relax and listen to the waves while I enjoyed the massage, but eventually I just gave up and engaged him in conversation. This turned out to be a good option because he taught me a lot about the culture in Malaysia, and its relations with her neighbors, and about growing up there. He even told me about the economy of the area. During the massage, Edwin did reflexology on my hands and feet. He explained that different places on the hands and feet correlate with different parts of the body. I don’t know if my innards really “woke up,” as Edwin described, but it felt interesting nonetheless. Nutmeg is a big export from that area in Malaysia. I ate natural dried candied nutmeg (tasted strong and weird) and drank something that was flavored with nutmeg, but the most interesting thing was the nutmeg oil that Edwin used when giving the massage. It was just like Icy Hot, and both burned and was cool at the same time, but also had a sweet smell to it. I left it on all day.

Batu Ferrenghi also had a tourist-trap thing going for it. There was a restaurant shaped like a huge pirate ship, and fake pagoda garden stores selling knick-knacks. I am sure this catered to the Holiday Inn & resort crowd. I did take advantage of the resorts when I snuck into the nicer one and took a dip in their pool. The security guard assumed I was a guest since there was an empty fruity drink sitting on the table next to my chaise lounge. I didn’t think it was my place to correct him. The best part of the day was all the great food I got to eat. Lunch was some awesome chicken satay and a smoothie made with lychee and sour fruit. At dinner time, I found a food center. Food centers are like food courts, but so much better. There are different little stalls that ring an area with picnic tables. Each stall specializes in a different dish or item. This food center had about 30 stalls, each with different India, Thai, Malay, and Chinese dishes. I sampled a bunch of different things and enjoyed all of them. In the end, my favorites were the fried tofu, and the Char Koay Teow (rice noodles, egg, veggies, fish, and sausage cooked in a fishy dark soy sauce… mmm). I finished the day by purchasing a couple souvenirs including the first Buddha, in what has since become a large collection. I took the public bus back after I spent a little time catching up with some fellow S@S staffers who came down to Batu Ferrenghi for an overnight.

The following day I had the pleasure of leading the “Religions of Malaysia” trip, which I mistakenly assumed was going to be pretty boring. We visited a number of temples all over Penang. We began with the oldest Anglican Church on the island, and were told it was on a street that is mystically important in Penang b/c every major religion found in Malaysia has a building on the street. We moved from the Church (which was a big yawn) to the Temple of the Guan Yin, the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy. This Buddhist temple was not very large, but it is the oldest on the island, and right in the heart of the city. Our guide explained to us that the Guan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, is an important deity in Buddhism and that people will come and say prayers to the goddess to intercede on their behalf. He taught us about the major Buddhist gods and the other figures often found in Buddhist temples, like the God of War & Literature (great combo, huh?) and the 18 fighting monks, etc. Outside the temple, there were huge sticks of incense burning smoldering around the complex. There were also big Hindu altars in the trees outside the Buddhist temple. The guide explained that many of the concepts and gods in Hinduism and Buddhism overlap. Even the concept of a Goddess of Mercy is found in both religions. Therefore many times you will find distinctly Hindu items or representations inside Buddhist temples, or vice versa. Near the burning incense and Hindu alters there were also huge cauldrons type things. They were full of ashes and had some burning items in them. We learned that the Buddhist equivalent of All Soul’s Day was a couple days off. Evidently, Buddhists believe that all people go to a Hell-like place if not reincarnated. So for that reason, they will make gifts to their dead ancestors of items that might ease their time in hell. The way the gifts are given is by burning them in these huge blessed cauldrons so they can then be sent to Hell and to the family in the beyond. There were stands all around the temple where people would purchase items to then burn for their loved ones who had passed on. You could purchase hundreds of millions of dollars in “Hell Bank” currency, or first class Hell Airline tickets. I even saw a Hell Bank credit card (with no limits & dividend miles, no lie!). A couple people purchased whole suits and dresses made out of crepe paper to bless and then burn to send to their loved ones in Hell. It was pretty surreal and interesting. I bought some Hell Bank money, just in case. So if I’m cremated, they better go with me… But I hear that inflation in Hell is pretty bad, so I don’t imagine I’ll be buying any ocean front property when I get there.

After the Buddhist temple, we walked through a Hindu temple, which felt uninspiring after my experiences in India. We also saw a Buddhist clan house which is where a large extended Chinese family worships and maintains family traditions and educates their youth. It seemed like a very ornate, but serene temple all on its own, and had many of the same Buddhist pantheon we saw in the Temple to Guan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, Good Fortune, Peace, & Fertility. After the clan house, we moved on to the oldest mosque in Malaysia. The mosque was beautiful and we were given a walking tour inside the mosque, and a cleric from the mosque explained some of the traditions we were witnessing, and also about how Islam is different than other religions and how it has received a bum rap in the Western World. A lot of what he said seemed like propaganda, but it certainly made many of us think… me included. But it was neat to learn about how Islam is practiced in Malaysia. We learned that while Malaysia is predominately a Muslim nation, Penang is much more religiously diverse. Only about 40% of Penang is Muslim, 45% are Buddhist, and about 10% are Christian. The remaining 5% come from all different faith backgrounds. The guides were quick to point out that even though Malaysia is officially an Islamic nation, there is great religious freedom written into its constitution and practiced among the people. That was pretty refreshing, and somewhat unexpected. Once we left the oldest mosque we encountered a Buddhist funeral procession. It was nothing like anything I’ve seen before. The family of the deceased marched behind the cremated remains, which were paraded down the street. The remains are in an elaborate portable temple that’s decked out for the deceased’s spirit to enjoy. The grieving family is dressed all in white, and throws papers of incense and fake money into the air, to confuse and ward of evil spirits that might hinder the journey of the deceased to their resting place. Also, there was some creepy, yet lively chanting music that is played as they march along down the street with a police escort.

After following the funeral procession for a bit, we drove past the State Mosque. It’s the largest mosque in Malaysia, and is so big that it can hold over 5000 people in it for Friday prayers. Evidently, most people pray at home or their office during the week, only on Fridays do large groups of people get together to pray. So the State Mosque has moveable walls to shrink it down during the week. Our final stop on the religious tour d’force was by far the best. We went to the Temple of Kek Lok Si. Kek Lok Si is the largest Buddhist temple in Malaysia, and one of the largest in all of Asia. It stands on a hilltop overlooking George Town and is opulent and beautiful and totally indescribably breath taking. The views from the temple were amazing, and I felt truly transported to a different world. It was so brightly colorful, and serene and like every mental expectation of a happy Buddhist temple magically brought to life right there on the side of the hill. Every single detail was exquisite and the symbols and meaning were overwhelming. Joe, the voyage videographer was along on this trip, and I think I managed to successfully plant myself into half of his shots. It was/is my mission to get into the voyage video so I will feel vindicated for buying it. I think I moved one step closer to my goal when Joe has me stand on a balcony looking out over the city. He said he got a good shot with George Town in the background, me looking pensive, and the temple framing me in a dramatic fashion. Score one for Drew, the egomaniac!

Our guide did a great job explaining Kek Lok Si as we walked through the complex. I was just blown away the entire time. The temple complex includes the seven tiered Ten Thousand Buddha Pagoda, and a HUGE statue of Guan Yin (the Goddess of Mercy again). The statue is enormous. It is a bronze statue and was cast in Shanghai and later brought to Penang, but her height rivals that of Christ the Redeemer in Rio. Plus, the site is still under construction. The Malaysians are building a huge ornate roof over the statue, that will almost double the height. Picture the US government building the Lincoln Memorial around the Statue of Liberty and you’ll begin the get a sense of the magnitude of this project. One of the highlights of Kek Lok Si was a special pond in the middle that was full of small turtles. Legend has it that if you buy special greens and feed them to the turtles, you will be granted long life, luck, and happiness. It was the best 2 Ringgit investment I’ve ever made (Ringgit is Malaysian currency). Another highlight was a garden which had statues of all the Chinese year animals. I took a picture next to the dragon, which is my animal. I learned that I am a dragon, and not a snake like I had thought, because the Chinese New Year didn’t happen in 1977 until after my b-day on Jan 23. The guide did inform me that it meant I was a “weak dragon.” But I’m thinking it’s better to be a weak dragon, than a strong snake. Right? I was really surprised at the richness of the religious diversity of Malaysians, and in Penang specifically. Seeing all these faiths practiced in the same place reminded me of how many similarities exist across these religious boundaries. My head was spinning that night trying to take in everything I had seen.

The rest of the evening was nice and low-key. I went for a dip in the shipboard pool and then played some cards with RD’s Dan, Matt, & Mindy. Later that night Matt and I went into Georgetown and ate some amazingly good Indian food at a hole in the wall in Little India. It was one of those places where there’s a menu, but they tell you what the chef has cooked up best that day, and we ate all sorts of great curries. Also, I finally tried a lassi, which is a flavored yogurt drink, that resembles a milkshake, but with a more yogurty taste to it. I ended up having three mango lassis during dinner. Hey, I needed something to soak up all the curry and the dosas we ordered.

My final day began with a choice I could have really regretted. After my harrowing experience on Table Mountain, where I was certain I was going to die a horrible death, I somehow got talked into leading a trip to hike up Penang Hill. When I heard the name, I figured Penang Hill would be a nice tropical mound, and that the hike would be a stroll through lush gardens. I was wrong. Penang Hill should really be called Penang Mountain. I heard stories from a bunch of different students who did the hike earlier in the week about how the hike up all 2650 feet of Penang Hill was muuuch worse than hiking Table Mountain. I was worried. They said that it was just as steep, all stairs, the entire way up, and because you were hiking through the jungle the entire time, you never stopped sweating. These were some pretty athletic students, and I didn’t think they were exaggerating, so … I was very very worried. The morning of the hike, I went to the Union to meet the group of 13 hikers, and one of them was Professor Vladi Steffel. When I saw him (old guy, not in the best shape) all the fear I had for myself transferred to him. In the official description of the hike, it said that only athletic and experienced hikers should select this program, and when I asked Vladi about that, he seemed surprised to hear it, since he was neither of those things. We all got sunscreened up, collected our water and headed out to the bus where we met Yap, our guide for the day. We drove out to the Botanical Gardens for our warm-up and to see all the tropical plants. In my experience, any experience that needs a “warm-up” is not going to later be described as a relaxing stroll. Plus, the warm-up around the Botanical Gardens was pretty strenuous. The loop around the garden had a hill of its own, and Yap set a brisk pace. Eventually, we found the trail head, which was really just a place where the jungle opened for a section and a set of old, mangled wooden stairs cut through it. And off we went. The stairs were incredibly steep, and in the jungle it was very hot and extremely humid. I was drenched in sweat pretty immediately.

We climbed the stairs for about 45 minutes until we got to the first rest station. I should say we all eventually got to the rest station. The first set of ambitious students got there about 20 minutes ahead of me, and I arrived about 20 minutes ahead of Vladi, and Yap. No one was upset about waiting though, because they were well entertained. Just as we popped out of the jungle at the first rest stop, we were surrounded by little monkeys each the size of a kindergartener. There were dozens of them and they were chatty and social, and not at all afraid of us. It was so much fun watching them interact, and play with one another. There were little baby monkeys, and older female, and it was easy to pick out the alpha males from each set. They almost looked like stuffed animals. A couple of them decided they didn’t like me because they barred their teeth and slapped at the tree branches in my direction. At first I thought the teeth barring was something cute so I barred my teeth back at them. Yes, I realize that was not a smart decision and luckily, they never charged at me, or leapt from the trees to attack me, but I think I made some monkey enemies. The rest station also had some hot coffee and tea set out for us. Evidently each morning, retirees hike up to the first rest station and boil the jungle river water to make it potable and then brew coffee and hot tea for the hikers to enjoy as they rest. The coffee was gone, but I did enjoy the tea. I now realize that in Asia, Sweet & Low and Equal are not provided to sweeten your tea. As a guy who spent years enjoying the benefits of Sweet Tea in the South, this has been tough to get used to… but I shall prevail. Yap showed us an acupressure track that was created for hikers use to help relax their feet. Basically, it was a circular cement path with stones laid into it. You would remove your shoes and walk on the stones to help heal your insides. I strip off my shoes and sweaty socks and gave it a go, and let me tell you… it was one of the most painful things I have ever done. The stones were not as smooth they looked, and they stuck up far enough from the cement that it felt like walking on a bed of dull nails. It took me about 10 minutes to walk the 15 ft. circle. Some of the students had no problem, though I have no idea how they did it. Whether or not it made a difference, I don’t know… but I didn’t mind starting the hike again.

The section between the first and second rest stations was a nice hike. We were walking through the jungle, and there were no stairs, and the slope was slow but steady. This part felt like a true hike, where we could appreciate the smells of the jungle, and the sounds of the jungle cicadas birds, and see all the vegetation growing around. I joked with Yap and the students that I had hoped to see a tiger, but he said the closest we’d come to a tiger was the famed tiger squirrel, which we later saw was a huge squirrel black with a bushy tail and orange stripes on its belly. After that, I decided everything was tiger related, so I was on the look out for tiger spiders, and tiger cicadas, and tiger monkeys. As I blog about it now, it seems pretty stupid, but trust me… at the time it had everyone in stitches; Hunting the dangerous wild tiger cicadas of Malaysia. At any rate, this part of the hike had us clamoring up boulders and using rope line to get up a few small hilly areas. Also, it started to get a little cooler the higher we climbed. We got a nice rest at the second rest stop, and realized we had been climbing about 2 hours. Starting at the second rest station we began to see groups of Malaysian hikers who were making the trek themselves, though they were using the road to hike. Once we left the station we hiked along the road for a while, and I realized why we weren’t doing that. The road was just a series of switchbacks set at about 70 degrees. It was back to a tough part of the climb, and again I worried about Vladi. Yap was worried about him too and told him that it was common for people to hitchhike to the top once they were in the middle of the hike. Vladi was certain that he would be fine, and that slow and steady would get him to the top just fine. Along the road, a few of the students and I stopped when we saw another pack of the little monkeys. One of the students was eating some Raisin Bran and Yap said we could feed the monkeys out of our hands if we wanted. Red lights and alarms went off for me b/c Dr. Matt, our voyage doctor, was clear about not petting monkeys and stray animals because they could have rabies or other nasty bugs. But it was tough to resist when the monkeys literally walked right up to you and snatched the cereal out of your hand. They surrounded Paul, the student with the Raisin Bran and were eating his cereal and even managed to snatch things out of his backpack. He had to chase after one monkey in order to get his Old Spice Deodorant back. I’m not sure what use the monkeys would have had for the deodorant. I ended up joining in on the fun and was feeding the alpha male out of my hand as well. Some of the students got pictures, and I’m going to have to hunt them down, because it’s not everyday you feed wild monkeys in a Malaysian jungle.

Our group got separated and a few of the women went on ahead and took the direct route along the road to the top. The rest of us went with Yap along the more scenic meandering route off the road. Once we left the road, the trek became much more enjoyable again, and there were a few spots where the vegetation opened up and we had some amazing views of George Town and the Penang Channel and even of the mountains on mainland Malaysia in the distance. The views really rivaled those from Table Mountain in South Africa and Pão de Açucar in Brazil. We popped out of the jungle at the top and walked along the mountain ridge road for about 30 minutes and passed some amazing homes that had been there since the 1920s and 30s. These little homes were inhabited by the rich elite during the British colonial times on the island. Some of them looked like they right out of a storybook fairy tale with their little shutters and flowering bushes growing all over them. The views in the distance were incredible as well. A few of us mused that these homes would be worth many millions each back in the US, but that here one could be purchased for about $100K. Maybe moving to Malaysia isn’t a bad idea. Hmmm. After over three hours of hiking, we came to the end of our hike at a little hotel perched on the top of the hill and enjoyed lunch overlooking George Town. The lunch was mainly Shrimp Fried Rice and Fish Ball Soup, so it left a little to be desired, but we were huuungry after the jungle trek. I for one appreciated the many glasses of Tang I drank to refuel. At the top we ran into a bunch of S@S folks, and a ton of other tourists. A few of them looked at us funny since we were looking pretty haggard. But once they heard we hiked all the way up the hill they had respect for us. Seeing us actually dissuaded a few of them from attempting to climb down the hill. After lunch we descended the hill on a funicular railway… the only one of its kind in Asia (and the way that all the tourists took to get to the top). It was essentially a series of rail cars that are shaped at a diagonal because the track is set at a dangerously steep slope. The decline is done in two sets, and as one car ascends, the other descends. The whole rail trip took about 30 minutes, so you can tell we covered a lot of ground on the hike. Once back to the bottom, we took the bus back over to Kek Lok Si for a quick photo stop, and to let a few students sign-out of the trip so they could check out the temple.

As I enjoyed the A/C on the bus, my leg and booty muscles started complaining to me about the punishment I put them through. I had a feeling it would be a tough afternoon as a result. So, with a few hours to spare before I needed to be back and work the line, I headed over to the Kompleks Komtar Mall and got myself a nice hour long reflexology foot massage. It was the best 30 Ringgit I could have spent. The massage was divine and took away so much of the pain. Plus I even got a 15 minute neck and shoulder massage as well. That part was nice, but when the woman giving me the massage was pushing on the pressure points of my back, which was fine, but as she went lower, she got a little invasive. She even reached into my shorts and massaged my tail bone. Mind you, I was fully clothed and sitting in a chair, in a room full of people, so I didn’t expect to the tail bone massage. It didn’t feel X-rated, and as I watched, the masseurs did the same maneuver on other people, but it was definitely an unexpected ending to the massage. After my massage, and meandered back towards the ship, but stopped and had some street food before returning to the ship. I decided for a repeat of the Char Koay Teow in China Town and the yummy samosas in Little India. It was the most filling 5 Ringgit I could have spent. That was less that a $1.75. Can you believe it? Sheesh! So I returned to the dock where the tenders carry people back to the ship and then my evening took a turn for the worse.

RD Dan and I were the only ones set to work the lines to get folks back on board for On-Ship time and our next leg to Vietnam. The Student Life Tea only opted to have 2 RDs working the line because it wasn’t outside the ship, but rather at the docks. When I got to the line at 6:30, a full 2 ½ hours before on-ship time, the line was already at least 150 people long, and each of those people had huge backpacks or shopping bags that had to be searched before they could get on the tender boats back to the ship. It seems that 4 different S@S travel groups all arrived from different parts of Malaysia at the same time. And when you add to that all the people who had been shopping or at the beach, the line just kept growing, and people got more and more upset about having to wait. The line also seemed to move at a snail’s pace because we only had 2 people who were authorized to check bags. As we got closer and closer to 9pm (On-ship time) the people in line got more and more angry and abusive and demanding. Dan and I took a lot of grief, and I won’t lie and say I wasn’t upset about it. We warned people that they needed to be back to the docks by 7:30pm in order to ensure they would be on the ship by 9pm. People shouted at us when we made them go to the back of the line for cutting, they shouted at us when we didn’t notice other people cutting, they shouted at us when they realized they wouldn’t be making it on board in time. To make matters worse, there were vendors selling beer to the crowd in line right outside the bag search area. We asked the port authority, and the police to have them stop, or at least move away, but both said they didn’t have the ability to do that. Most of the students were fine but a couple really took advantage of the vendor and their time in line to tie-one-on. And then they becamse some of the most verbal people in line. In the end, it was just the perfect storm of circumstances to make things yucky. When 9pm rolled around, there were sill almost 80 people who hadn’t gotten onto the ship. That number almost doubled, but the final pre-on ship time tender arrived just prior to 9pm and people were able to swipe in. There was a lot of fall out from that evening, but I thin a lot of it is about the tendering process, and barring some unforeseen weirdness, we won’t have to tender anymore. I didn’t let it bother me too much. I didn’t want a couple difficult hours to ruin my entire Malaysian experience. After a couple hours playing hearts with fellow RD’s in the Faculty/Staff Lounge, I felt a lot better.

In talking to everyone about their time in Malaysia, I think everyone was surprised at how wonderful a time they had, and how welcoming the Malaysian people were to us. People really felt like this would be the boring port that served as a placeholder between India and Vietnam, but people described it as their favorite yet. When I think back to the views from Penang Hill, the night market in Batu Ferrenghi, and the Kek Lok Si Temple, I can understand what they’re talking about. Sure, Burma would have been a fun place to visit, but Malaysia certainly was no let down.

And now on to Vietnam & Cambodia! Love to all back in the states.
XOXO
-Drew

Comments Re-enabled

2007-04-09T19:39:00.000-07:00

I got a couple emails that my comments had been turned off. I didn't realize they had. I was wondering why allmy family and friends stopped responding to my posts. I think I fixed the problem.

I promiseI am working on my Malaysia post anddid not fall off the face of the Earth. But, I'm in Vietnam and heading for Cambodia in 10 minutes,so it will all have to wait.

Love to everyone stateside.
-Drew

Namaste India!

2007-04-01T09:44:00.000-07:00

Ahhh! I’m feeling stuck. Normally I type my blog for the previous port slowly during the voyage to the next country. But now we’ve reached the point in our voyage where we will be arriving in ports after only 2 or 3 days at sea. In a few hours we will be arriving in Malaysia, and here I am just beginning to collect my thoughts about India. How quickly the time flies!

Our Cultural and Logistical Pre-Ports did a great job in preparing us for the port. We learned how to haggle with rickshaw drivers; we learned that even the bottled water in India can be polluted and make us sick; we learned about the dreaded “Delhi Belly” and what to do if we contracted explosive diarrhea (a lovely thought, huh?). They painted a dire picture. On the flip side of the coin, we learned about the rich cultural history of India, including its colonial heritage, independence, and religious diversity. We learned about all the amazing music, and cuisine, and the bright clothing like saris for women and kurtas for men… the Admin Team squeezed a LOT of info into very little time. During the Logistical Preport a bunch of the RD’s were recruited to provide some levity to the presentation. We were brought in pretending to be members of a sacred ashram. Each of us demonstrated techniques from a “newly identified” chapter of the “Kama Sutra” that would aide travelers in India (i.e. how to choose safe drinking water or apply bug spray, etc). We were dressed by our visiting interport lecturer and students, and had bindis made of Pepto-Bismal tablets. All I was wearing was a white bed sheet tied around my waist like a dhoti, or the loin-cloth type of outfit that people associate with Gandhi. Lucky me, I was given the task of demonstrating how to use the squat toilet. So picture it… I walked out in front of all 800 passengers in my loin-cloth dhoti, and then demonstrated and instructed the entire shipboard community on the proper way to squat and do their duty (pardon the pun) without soiling themselves. I was even given the privilege of explaining the concept of the “pelvic tilt” that is essential for women when urinating (I must admit, I don’t quite understand the physics, but I explained it nonetheless). I practiced the maneuver for quite sometime beforehand so I would give everyone the best info. While this was quite possibly the most embarrassing thing I have ever done, it was hysterical for everyone. They were howling with laughter, and I have definitely not lived it down. During the next day, people stopped me constantly and asked me to demonstrate the maneuver for them again. I always obliged since it was, afterall, a public service that I was glad to provide. Ever since, students, staff, and faculty have been coming up and telling me about their pooping experiences with squat toilets, and leting me know that they thought of me when they squatted. I’m still not sure how I feel about being associated with taking a dump, but in a way it’s fitting. I’d like to thank Doctor Matt for giving me the dubious honor (and choosing my wardrobe). I’m going to finish this anecdote, by reporting that I managed to avoid “Delhi Belly,” and that I used the squat toilets a number of times and am proud to say I pooped with pride! My favorite locale was on the train, where the toilet was just a hole in the bottom of the train leading right down to the tracks. Yuck! Ok, and now on to more serious matters.

So, India. Wow. What a place. I experienced major sensory overload. I don’t think a chronological blow-by-blow would do justice to my experience there, so I am going to just go free form. I have to admit, I cheated before I got to India. I went back and re-read the blogs of past friends who have done Semester at Sea before I arrived in India to prepare myself (forgive me!). After my time in this culturally (if not economically) rich nation, I’ve decided that ex-RD Danelle really described things best, so I will quote her here: “They say you either love or hate India. Either way, you will have strong feelings - there is no middle of the road. I’ve been told to ‘brace yourself for the sights, smells, and sounds of India, as they can be very intense.’ Everyone I spoke with seemed to prepare me for the worst. Don’t drink the water, watch what you eat – you will get sick, and don’t swim in the ocean or walk on the sand, it’s dirty. Wear closed toe shoes, take your malaria medication, use bottled water to brush your teeth, and beware of pickpocketers, con artists, and people begging for money. I had envisioned a filthy, foul smelling, chaotic, seedy society; what then was there to love?” Didn’t Danelle paint a great picture? Well my experience mirrored hers. All the preparation I mentioned, and information we received scared the bejeezus outta me and the rest of the voyagers. But I think we all steeled our reserves and prepared for the worst. In some ways, I am thankful, because it allowed me to be pleasantly surprised by everything that transpired.

The morning of our arrival, I came out on the deck of the ship to watch the harbor come into view, and though we were still miles away, I got my first smell of India. I must admit, that I had all sorts of preconceived notions about how I would feel about this port of call. After hearing so much about the poverty and pollution of the country, I expected to be overpowered by a stench of sewage or filth. I wasn’t prepared for the industrial smell of burning coal and smoke which was intense and present throughout the entire stay in India. The air on the deck was humid and thick, and there was a haze settled over the city of Chennai. It was difficult to make out the buildings in the distance because of the pollution and smog that was settled over the port, but slowly it all came into view and as we pulled into the port, we were welcomed with the sounds of Indian drums and horns playing a haunting and eerie tune that sounded distinctly Indian, and yet somewhat ominous as well.

Walking around in India took some getting used to. People are constantly assaulting you with demands for attention or money or information: auto rickshaw wallahs (read: drivers) demanding that you get in their rickshaw for exorbitant prices; or beggars relentlessly grabbing at you for food or money; or store owners shouting at you to come buy their wares for “special price, just for you” when we were knew that they marked up the prices 500% when they saw our American faces. I know I was not the only person who felt violated by my first experience into the port. My friend Dia described it really well when she said that being in the port for an hour was exhausting. You just wanted to get back to the ship, and hide there in your little pocket of the western world and not come out until it was time to leave. In my first outing, a couple RDs and I went to a popular shopping area called Spencer Plaza and were overcome by the lack of anything familiar. It wasn’t just a matter of culture shock, it was complete culture deprivation. In every other port we’ve visited, there was something familiar, something that you could point to and be reminded of home, or at least of something you knew from the US. But in India, nothing is familiar. In other countries, there are pockets of poverty amid areas of culture, but India is a culture of poverty. It is pervasive in everything. The languages, the foods, the smells, the sounds, the lack of personal space, the pollution. None of it was like anything I had ever experienced before. It was downright scary at first. Don’t get me wrong, I loved being out of my element. I did not come on Semester at Sea to be comfortable. I wanted my learning curve to be vertical, and it surely was during those first few hours. The joy in this discomfort was that, for the first time, I felt like I was truly abroad. I had completely left behind the world I knew, and entered a foreign domain.

That first day, I returned to the ship and was covered in filth. The crew on board the Explorer put down tarps and plastic on all the carpets and I thought that was a bit extreme, but I quickly realized why. By the time we left India, every surface on the outside of the shop was covered in a thick layer of grime. Every surface that had previously gleamed white, was now dark brown. You could slide your foot on the outside deck, and move a film of sediment that was sometimes half an inch thick. There is no way to feel clean in a place where you are constantly covered in sweat. Every time I returned to the ship my hands were filthy, my hair was dirty, my clothes were gross. India invades your body. It gets under your fingernails (and doesn’t go away till you chop ‘em off), India gets in your nostrils and your lungs and has to be coughed and sneezed out. It’s as if the country is trying to mark you as it’s own, and make you a part of the culture. I loved that. At the end of each day, I felt like I belonged a little more as a result of being further imbued in India.

There are more than a billion people in India. A billion people! That is a number that is incredibly difficult to comprehend. What it meant for me is that there are people everywhere, and these people have almost no concept of personal space. There is no personal sphere that people respect. They are in your face, on your body, touching, groping, stroking, and being near you. This was sometimes the case b/c there was just nowhere else to be, and other times it was just true because it was the custom. I met many Indians who were fascinated by me and my presence in their country, and my trip around the world with Semester at Sea. They were fascinated by how tall I was, and how freckled my skin was, and how straight and white my teeth were. I watched as our blond students (especially the women) were treated like celebrities. Indians would constantly stop them for photographs or to stroke their hair. It was intense. The point is, there were people everywhere, and always right in your face.

So, lemme take a minute and talk about transportation. Immediately after leaving the port area, we had to show our landing cards and passports to the armed troopers stationed outside the dock. Security was tight due to the train bombing that took place near the Pakistani border a month back). Once we cleared that hurdle, we encountered transportation in India. In India, there are three options for getting around town (not including the bus). First, there is a taxi, which is a standard car, sometimes even air conditioned. Next, there is the rickshaw, which is a bicycle with a seat behind for the passengers to ride in. Finally, there’s the auto rickshaw, which resembles a golf cart, only smaller, with three wheels. These auto rickshaws move around the streets of India (they are in every city) like pinballs banging around inside of a machine… or better yet, like mice running around inside a cage (if the cage was crammed full of mice, and the mice were all on crack, and they all had horns that they used CONSTANTLY). The streets in India have almost no traffic signals, and very few delineated lanes. They are just broad boulevards full of vehicles, and a free-for-all ensues. I feared for my life on many an occasion. I was careful to never let any appendage stick outside of the rickshaw, and always braced myself against the sides, or fellow passengers, at risk of injury or mortal peril from oncoming traffic. Miraculously I was never in an accident, though I saw many of them take place around me (Yikes!).
So, as we cleared the port, we were always surrounded by a horde of shouting auto rickshaw drivers vying for the privilege of conning you out of as much money as they could to go from point A to point B. It was so frustrating because we knew in advance how much a local would be charged for a given journey, and the drivers always demanded 3, 5, 10 times that amount because they thought we didn’t know any better, or because they felt like we were rich (which comparatively, we all were) and therefore needed to share that wealth with them. The frustration really stems from the fact that I did not like feeling taken advantage of, and that was a regular occurrence, especially with the rickshaw drivers. They would often say they knew where you were trying to go even when they had no idea. This would lead to wild goose chases in completely wrong locations and then they would inevitably try to charge you more for the extra time and gas. Grrrr. The other frustration was that the rickshaw drivers would constantly stop at stores and ask you to shop in them before they would continue on to your destination. We knew it was because they got a kick-back commission when you made purchases in these stores. The problem was, the merchandise inside was marked up to cover their commission and pay our “stupid American tourist” tax. During my first trip in an auto rickshaw, our first driver asked us to stop at “his cousin’s store” 32 times during a 12 minute drive. We declined each time, but that didn’t stop him from asking again and again. Those kinds of shenanigans was what led to my frustration. But on the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel bad for them. They earn very little money, and are in generally desperate financial positions. In the end, if a ride should cost 100 Rupees ($2) and they charged me 150 Rupees ($3) should I really be that upset? Or should I give up that frustration to the universe and hope the good karma comes back to me later? I wish I could say I always left those interactions feeling good, but that would not be true.

Not all of the drivers were bad guys. In fact, in each city I visited, I eventually found a great driver, and would hire him for the day to serve as a driver/guide/friend for the day. Oddly, I discovered something about religious diversity in India through my drivers. My first day in Chennai, my driver, Arun, was proud to be a Christian and had huge “Jesus will protect me” stickers on his rickshaw. In Delhi, I took a bicycle rickshaw driven by Robi, who was a Hindu. When I visited Agra, my taxi driver’s name was Abbal, and he was a Sikh. In Jaipur, Sonu was my rickshaw driver, and he was a muslim. This was totally by happenstance that they were all from different religious traditions. I laughed to myself that I would surely encounter a Jewish driver when I returned to Chennai. I was wrong, however, because my driver the last day, Muthu, was a Jain. How cool, huh? Five drivers, five faiths. I was astounded. (me and Abbal & Abbal's friend in the pic below).

My friend Shayla and I went to dinner my first night in Chennai to a great chain restaurant called Saravana Bahvna. (They are a couple in Jersey/NY if you’re in the neighborhood). We were the only non-Indians there and had amazing food. It was fun to watch the Indians watching us. Shayla being a curvaceous African American, and me the tall freckley white guy… were certainly a sight for all the locals. While the food was amazing (I am in love with Indian cuisine, especially anything with paneer (cheese) and aloo, dosas, idlys, samosas, mmmmm!) we enjoyed some people watching of our own. The strangest thing about the evening was getting used to the head wagging maneuver that Indians do. It is their way of indicating “ok, I understand” or “its all good.” But having someone use this head wag to communicate is such a strange thing to integrate into your everyday interactions. The most difficult part, is that when people do the head wag, they also get a non-plussed look on their face. The combination always made me feel like they were giving me a look of sarcasm, or like they were communicating a joke I didn’t quite understand. Replicating the head wag and the non-plussed look was (and still is) a personal mission. Everyone in California better be prepared for it upon my return. On the way back from dinner, Shayla and I agreed that it takes a special kind of person to enjoy travel to a place like India. Not everyone can deal with the intensity of this country that grabs you and forces you to engage. It was in this conversation that I realized how much I was engaging in my experience in India, and how much I was enjoying it.

The next morning, I began my journey across the country. Everyone I knew made plans well in advance for their Indian adventures. They were either on S@S planned trips, or were heading to the coast, or off to home stays and service visits. In the end, everyone had plans before I got around to making mine. I decided to be brave and travel independently, and alone through India. I have to admit, that initially I was pretty terrified to be traveling alone in a country so foreign from my western sensibilities. The only plans I made in advance were my flights. I flew from Chennai to Delhi (through Hyderabad) and then knew I had to catch a plane in Jaipur three days later to fly back to Chennai (through Mumbai). Everything in the middle was up in the air. When I arrived at the airport, I realized my flight on Spice Jet (SOOO cheap, especially for such a nice efficient airline) was packed with S@S kids doing their own independent trips. I was friendly and said hello to all the folks I knew, and then I made a point to sit away from them. Once I arrived in Delhi, I found myself a ride to the New Delhi train station and booked some tickets from Delhi to Agra and on to Jaipur. The two trips together cost me about 900 Rupees (a little more than $20), and I splurged for a sleeper car for the second leg. Clearly dollars go a long way. In the train station I encountered more S@S kids and realized I was going to be seeing a lot of familiar faces if I stayed in touristy areas. The funny thing was, while they were all so astounded that I was traveling alone, almost every one of them told me how jealous they were. The students went off to find markets and malls, and to look for touristy spots, but I wanted a truer experience. I discussed the area with a backpacker I met in the station and walked through the Main Bazaar of the Paharganj area, and shopped among the stalls. This area felt like the true India. The lanes were very narrow, and crammed full of Indians buying and selling all sorts of bright clothing, and saris, and fabrics, and instruments, and foods. It was intense. Add to that auto rickshaws, and bicycles, and blaring horns, stray dogs, and children and you begin to have an idea. By far my favorite element in this milieu were the sacred cows. There were a bunch of them along Main Bazaar strolling down the avenue, munching on the trash and rotting vegetables strewn on the ground and in the alleys. They were unfazed by the masses of people, the blaring horns, or anything else. People and rickshaws unquestioningly accepted their presence made a point to go around them. These cows were everywhere in India. Eventually, I lost count and stopping photographing them b/c seeing them was pretty routine. (this is a pic of the Paharganj).

I met some incredible travelers on my trek across India. Here’s a brief chronicle of them. In the Delhi train station I met Shaoul, an Israeli backpacker who had been traveling in India for the last three months (that's the back of his head in the pic above). He looked like he hadn’t shaved his whole time in India, but gave a lot of great advice about getting around. He and I palled around for a few hours in Delhi before he caught a train for Varanasi. On the train to Agra, I met four Argentinians who were spending a month in India after finishing their studies in Buenos Aires. In the Agra train station I met Laurel and Stephanie, two Canadian gals who were spending three weeks backpacking in India after teaching English in Taiwan and before starting grad school back in Canada. They were especially glad to see me, as our train out of Agra was late, and we were on the platform for almost 3 hours. The two of them were tired of being stared at and groped by the aggressive Indian men, so I played the role of the male escort for awhile. On the train, I shared my sleeper compartment with a French woman who was a Hari Krishna. I never got her name, but we laughed a bunch at the Indian men who were in the adjoining compartment snoring in ways I have never heard before. All of these folks helped make my experience all the more enjoyable. They also kept me from ever feeling lonely, which had been my fear traveling alone.

I have to thank the lovely people at Lonely Planet for creating such wonderful guide books. LP was my Bible crossing India. In each city, it was how I knew what sites to see, it was my map and my hotel directory. I’m a big fan. The places I stayed in India were… well… bohemian at best. I purposefully did not want to stay in posh western hotels because I didn’t think it would allow me to really experience India. So, I went for the backpacker hotels and guest houses. I got advice from my friend Travis, who did study abroad in India and knew to check out multiple places and ask to see the rooms in advance, and then to bargain on the price. This was also invaluable information. Thanks Travis, I owe you big time! In Delhi, the first place I found, in the Paharganj was scary. LP said it was pretty good, but the room (it was really more of a cell) they showed me had no window, was damp and had a moldy mattress with a wet and stained sheet on it. The bathroom was equally frightening, and they asked for 500 Rupees for the night. Thankfully, my next stop was Hotel Shelton, when I paid 450 Rupees for a sparse room with a clean double bed and a clean bathroom. Sure the bed was really more of a cushioned board, and sure the shower didn’t actually have water pressure or hot water, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. In Agra, my driver helped me secure a room at the Shanti Lodge for 500 Rupee. It was supposed to be one of the best places to stay in the Taj Ganj area, just south of the Taj Mahal. The place seemed ok, and my room had a balcony with a Taj Mahal view, but when I turned on the light, I saw hundreds of mosquitos flying around inside. I hoped for the best, but am still suffering from all the bites (were talking hundreds of ‘em). In Jaipur, I stayed at the Atithi Guest House, which was the nicest of my hotels. It was clean, and had a great bathroom and real shower, and even had a nice little garden. The best thing about it, was that the owners wouldn’t pay commission to the auto rickshaw drivers, always a good sign. None of these places would have registered as even a 2 star hotel in the states, but in India, they were deluxe. In the end, what did I care? I was always exhausted, asleep by 10pm and up by 5am. I wasn’t lookin’ for luxury.

I saw some amazing places on my journey. Of course, I loved the Taj Mahal. It was one of those places that you worry won’t live up to the hype, but it was magnificent. Abbal, my driver/guide, strongly suggested I time my visit for sunset, and I’m glad I did. I got to see this beautiful building change colors from gleaming white, to a blazing gold, and then turn grey in the fading light. Trust me when I say it looked as poetic as I am trying to make it sound. It was built as a monument to love, and is worthy of all the accolades. The gardens, and mosque, and side structures, and minarets all serve to make the area a highlight. The white marble has friezes and inlays that are astounding, especially when you consider how long ago they were installed.

Look... I had the Taj at my fingertips! (yes, Drew is a dork).

While the Taj Mahal was great, I saw many other cool sites. In Agra, I saw the Itimad-Ud-Daulah, which is also known as the Baby Taj. It is also a beautiful tomb, and is interesting because it was built a few years before the Taj Mahal, and has design elements that foreshadow the famous building. I also visited the Agra Fort, and the fortified ghost city of Fatehpur Sikri 4 km outside of Agra. It was once the Mughal capital and home of the great leader, Akbar the Great. The city was amazing and the mosque attached was huge and beautiful as well. In Delhi, I visited the Red Fort, and the Jummah Mosque, which is the largest mosque in India. I had to wait outside the mosque until the afternoon prayers were finished, but it was worth the wait. Sitting on the steps and listening to the call for prayer was another instance where I felt like I was in a very foreign locale. It really gave me chills. Being inside the mosque, I felt dwarfed by the immense scale of the building and the intricate details that were put into it. You could also feel how important a place it was for all the followers of Islam who were inside. My driver, Robi, also had me stop at the Lotus Temple, or Sistanj Gurdwara. I have had very little exposure to the Sikh faith, and had expected to be treated as an outsider, but was welcomed into their temple by many different people who were eager to explain the significance of the beautiful building and the ceremony taking place inside. In order to enter, I had to cover my head, remove my shoes, and walk through a fountain to cleanse my feet. I can’t really describe the ceremony, but it was very rhythmic and entrancing, especially given the heavy incense. Jaipur was probably my favorite city of the four. It felt more organized, and better scaled. I saw the Hawa Mahal, which is an artisitic honeycomb hive of a pink building where the Maharaja’s wives could look out upon the city without being seen. I also really enjoyed visiting the Amber Fort, which is 10 km outside the city. This fort is set atop a large mountain, and was exquisitely crafted by Akbar’s Governor Maharaja Man Singh in the 1590’s. The structure was ornate, and used ingenious techniques in order to cool the palace and irrigate as well.

Part of my thrill was to ride an elephant at Amber Fort. I had heard the elephants were grossly mistreated, so I watched them for awhile and am glad to report that they were being well treated and given regular breaks. In fact, they are only allowed to work for half a day. Sadly, none of my pictures turned out from that part of the day b/c other people used my camera to take my picture, and the Indians who helped me out didn’t really understand how to work my digital camera, but the elephant was quite gentle and had fun designs painted on her face, as the Elephant Festival took place recently. So even though I struck out in Africa, I got my elephant encounter in India. I also came face-to-face with some camels and monkeys in Jaipur as well.

In Chennai, I got to see a few cool places. Fort St. George was ornate and unlike any military fort I have ever seen. I also really enjoyed visiting the Kapaleeshwrar Temple, which is an active Hindu temple with brightly colored statues all over its high tower. At the temple, I gave an offering to Ganesh, the elephant-faced God and son of Shiva. In return, I was given some ashes of burned jasmine and lotus blossoms to apply to my forehead. The temple was most fascinating b/c there were all sorts of Dravidians chanting and lighting candles all around the temple complex.

From Kapaleeshwrar, I visitied the San Thome Cathedral. This is a soaring Catholic Church in India, which is famous because it is built on the tomb of Saint Thomas the Apostle (which happens to be my church at home in Tucson). There is even a relic, one of his teeth, on display in the church. The site is important because only 3 churches in the world are built on burial sites of apostles. St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City, a cathedral in Spain built on the burial ground of St. James, and San Thome Cathedral in Chennai India. That was a piece of Christian history I never expected to encounter in India.

I bought a number of cool souvenirs on my trips. I continued my trend of purchasing instruments and got a bamboo flute made in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta), and a tambura, which looks like a sitar or guitar instrument and is native to Southern India. I considered buying a sitar, b/c I really enjoy the way they sound but a) they are huge and very ornate (read: expensive), and b) I learned the sitar is not native to India. It originally comes from areas north of the country, but is often associated with India b/c it has since become important to their musical heritage. I also purchased a wooden idol of Ganesh, and a metal Natraj (which is what the Hindu God Shiva is called when depicted in a dancing pose). In addition I got a piece of sandstone that had been ornately carved like the stone screens on many of the temples. It holds a votive and reflects all sorts of colors. I picked up a small tapestry, and some other knick-knacks, but am proud of my new kurta. The kurta is the long shirt that many Indian men wear. Mine is white and comes down past my knees with slits up the sides to my waist. It is white and has some embroidery around the collar. I wore it my last couple days of traveling and got many compliments from Indian on the street who were glad to see me wearing the shirt. In fact, one of my flight attendants complimented my kurta as an opening to a sexual proposition. (Yes, this really did happen… it was a quite uncomfortable situation but a funny story that wouldn’t translate well here).

Professor Judyie spoke with the Students of Color before we arrived in Chennai. She told them was hoped she would be able to keep her eyes open and unaverted while in India. Her words really stayed with me during my travels. It was too easy to hide in the back of rickshaws or taxis, or to avoid people begging on the streets. The comfortable thing to do was always to look the other way or ignore the poverty that was present everywhere. But it’s impossible to deny how serious a part poverty plays in the culture of India. I realized that I was hiding and averting my eyes during my first day in Delhi. It was part of the reason I took the bicycle rickshaw. It became much more difficult to hide when people could see you and when you weren’t zooming past quickly in a taxi. Making eye contact always seemed to encourage people to make a target out of you, and I also became conscious of the fact that I was hiding behind my sunglasses. Once I took them off, I was able to smile at the people walking with me, and then they asked me questions or showed me where they worked or lived. It allowed me to see more than I would have otherwise. The downside was that I was more exposed to people who wanted money from me. I decided not to ignore them and instead acknowledged them and though I declined to give them money, I always made a point of bowing my head and saying “namaste,” which is used to say hello and goodbye, but essentially translates to “I honor the divine in you.” I picked up this habit during my second day, and it was the funniest thing. People would be relentless in their demands for money regardless of how many times I said no, but the minute I said “namaste” and bowed my head to say goodbye, they would just stop altogether. Invariably they would smile and bow in return and that was it. I think they were surprised to hear it from a guy like me. Maybe they thought it was funny. I don’t know, but I felt as though we both left the conversation in a better way that if I had just ignored them altogether. Why didn’t I give people money? Well, we learned in our pre-ports and Global studies, that some Indians will hurt and use their children in order to make people sympathetic and give them more money. When travelers give them money it reinforces the practice. Instead, we were told to give money to community organizations that could put it to better use. It was really difficult to see how people lived in Chennai and Delhi, and the other cities I visited. You see movies that depict poverty, or commercials asking for aid, or even read news stories, but it is different when it is right there in front of you. I realize now I had no real understanding of poverty before my arrival. This new understanding is something that will follow me for a while.

So, now the $64,000 question. Did I love India, or hate it? I definitely am on the love side of that equation. But, that doesn’t meant I enjoyed everything about the port stay. It doesn’t mean I could spend significant time there. India was tough. It wore on me, physically and emotionally. I am convinced that it is not possible for a person to visit India and leave unchanged. This country indelibly marks those who visit. How have I been changed? This is where I am not so sure. What do I do with my experience? How can I continue to process how I feel about what I encountered there? How can I acknowledge the privilege I enjoy, and make sense of the poverty I witnessed? My friend Yas wrote about her experiences in India when she was here with S@S as an RD a couple years back. Like Yas, I know I have room for personal growth and improvement, but I feel good about how I’ve lived my life up till now. I hope I can use my experiences in India to provide insight into ways I can live better, better understand other people’s experiences and realities, and how I can help them in my own unique way… in a way that fits me and is genuine, and where I know I can be have an impact. Yea, I know… heavy stuff… but that’s what a week in India seems to have brought out in many of us.

Well, that and the ability to go #2 on a squat toilet. There’s always that.

Love to all back in the states. XOXO
-Drew

Au Revoir Ile Maurice

2007-03-23T23:44:00.000-07:00

Well, a few hours ago I passed the Equator again, I am officially back in the Northern Hemisphere. In a sense that makes me feel closer to home, but truth be told, I am now the farthest away from home on the West Coast of the US than I will be at any other point in this journey. Due to some satellite issues I haven’t been able to check my email, or really get online since we left Mauritius, so I have been out of touch, and delinquent in getting my blogs online. A lot has happened, but I want to describe my time in Mauritius before I discuss ship life. So, let’s start with some Mauritius background.

Learning about Mauritius in the Cultural Pre-Port and in Global Studies was great. It seemed like the perfect place for us to continue our voyage. It is the epitome of a cross-cultural nation. The island of Mauritius (or Ile Maurice, as they call it there) was an uninhabited island in the Indian Ocean until it was discovered by Dutch explorers. It was a lush and tropical place with few native animals. The most notable native species was the famous Dodo Bird. It was a large animal that was not particularly intelligent. It flourished on the island because it had no natural predators. Then the Dutch brought monkeys and other animals, and they hunted the Dodos and by the beginning of the 1600’s, the Dodo… well.. you know the old expression. “It went the way of the Dodo Bird.” It’s astounding how much industry and tourism dollars this small island nation eeks out of a bird that died out almost 400 years ago. The damned bird is on everything. Every cheap ashtray, beach towel, glass mug and t-shirt had a Dodo bird plastered all over it. If I were Dodo Bird, I would feel pretty exploited.

So, as I was saying… the Dutch colonized Mauritius and they brought a number of African slaves to the island, mostly from Mozambique and Southern Africa. Once the Dutch left, the island was taken over by the Portuguese, the English, and the French. It was an important stop for ships sailing around the southern horn of Africa on their way to India and the rest of Asia. The island was also renown for piracy, as the ships that stopped along their trade route made for easy targets. The pirates added to the cultural mix of the island and brought new animals and crafts to the island nation. Once the Suez Canal opened, and ships began to sail the northern route, Mauritius became less important as a trade stop. At this point sugar production became a main industry. When the English abolished slavery the colonists in Mauritius hired and imported indentured servants from India to work on the sugar plantations. The Indian population became a dominant cultural group as the country matured, and eventually became independent in 1968. The fact that there no cultural group that is native to Mauritius is fascinating. Every culture that is represented in the population is alien to the island, and as each new culture arrived, it blended into the existing melting pot. In many ways, Mauritius represents the antithesis of what we encountered in South Africa. Everything we came across on the island reinforced this concept of a “rainbow culture.” The currency (the Mauritian Rupee) has different governmental officials from the past in Mauritius. Each bill had a different gentleman, one was Indian, one was Dutch, one was African, and one of them even had a name that sounded Spanish, and he looked latino. How crazy is that? The entire week leading up to Mauritius, the students had a ton of exams, and everyone was really wiped out after a mentally and physically exhausting (yet exhilarating and wonderful) time in Cape Town. Everyone was looking at Mauritius as the “Spring Break” port. Kovila, our interport student, made a point of saying time and time again “Mauritius is more than just beaches.” I was hoping that our students would really take that to heart and have some wonderful cultural experiences on the island. However, it became increasingly more apparent as we got closer to the country that this was not to be the case. The vast majority of the students rented villas in the various beach communities and planned to party like rockstars for their time in port. Because tourism is now one of the main industries in Mauritius, it was all too easy to find cheap beach villas for the students to share. Because of very (very very) rough seas, our arrival in port was almost delayed by an entire day, and it seemed that every single student on board was bemoaning the loss of one of their two precious villa nights. In the end, Captain Jeremy was able to make up lost time, and we arrived in Port Louis by about noon, and the ship was cleared by about 1:30 or so. Then the students made a mad dash for cabs and were off to their rentals. Pulling into Port Louis was interesting. We haven’t arrived into a port in the middle of the day before. We’ve typically arrived in the early morning hours as dawn was breaking. In this case, we could clearly see the mountains of the island. Mauritius is a volcanic island, and in that respect it is a very young island. All along the landscape, there are jagged peaks and some intense rock formations looming over the port city. The other interesting thing about it is that the mountains, everything for that matter, was covered in green growth. Unlike Cape Town, which was a big city nestled at the base of Table Mountain, Port Louis, was not a very large city. Also, Cape Town opened up and welcomes us with a beautiful waterfront and adventure everywhere. My first impression of Port Louis, was that it seemed industrial and not very welcoming at all. That might have had something to do with the French Warship that was parked right in front of us. Go figure.
I decided to stick close to the ship for the port, and things were blessedly quiet, for the most part. That first afternoon, a bunch of the RDs decided to go for a walk and see Port Louis, the capital of Mauritius. The docks in Port Louis are arranged in a strange way. Large ships, like ours, are forced to dock on the far side of the port. Even though all the commercial and touristy areas were only 100 yards away across the water, there was no easy way to access them. We would have had to walk 45 minutes to get there because the bay weaves around. (I have one word for the port authority: bridge). Luckily the port area had a system of water taxis in place that brought us from the industrial side of the port to the commercial side for the nice fee of $1 (US). This seemed very convenient at first, but got to be pretty annoying b/c everyone is trying to save our dollar bills for India and Vietnam. In addition, the taxis were filthy, billowed thick black exhaust, and the people running the service kept moving the dock on us. You would leave the ship, and have to wander in search of the place where they pick-up and deliver passengers on the industrial side. Plus, the industrial side of the port was poorly lit, had many roaming stray dogs, and was crawling with some of the biggest cockroaches known to man. I also heard stories from many of the women on the ship who were “accidentally” groped by the water taxi drivers. But, they have a monopoly, so we all sort of put up with it. But I digress… So the RD’s decided to go for a walk in Port Louis. We got off the water taxi and consulted our guide books. We saw that the main market place was located nearby and we started to walk through the port city. We quickly came to realize that Port Louis was not the tourism center for this nation that bills itself as an island paradise. The city was filthy, looked extremely run down, and there were people selling random things everywhere. The most popular items seemed to be candles, Q-tips, and the asian equivalent of “Hello Kitty” items. Even though the signs all over the area were in French, and Hindi, and occasionally other languages, I was constantly reminded of Nogales and Tijuana Mexico. As we continued to wander, that image was only strengthened by what I saw. We eventually found the market, and walked among the stalls. The market was fun despite the heat and humidity. However, the people selling their wares were extremely pushy. I tried my polite lines, like “you have beautiful things to sell, but I am not buying today.” But these lines didn’t work, the vendors would just try to convince me to shop at their cousin/uncle/brother’s stall instead, or worse, follow me for a few minutes trying to put their item into my hands. It got frustrating. The interesting thing about the market is that I could find nothing that seemed unique to Mauritius, except for the ubiquitous Dodo Bird paraphernalia. Everything seemed to originate from China, India, or South Africa. They were selling curries, and pashminas, and African masks, and saris, and an assortment of things we all knew we would be seeing, perhaps more authentically, in the countries left to visit on our itinerary. I didn’t end up buying a single souvenirs in Mauritius, in fact I wasn’t even successful at purchasing postcards, so I warn friends and family that you shouldn’t be expecting any cards from Mauritius (my humblest apologies).

We wandered through the produce market, and that was really awesome. I wish I lived in a place with a huge open air produce market. However, when we walked through the meat market, I alternated between holding my breath and gagging on the odor of rotting meat flesh. Blech! We didn’t stick around there too long, but even despite the odor, it was interesting to see the animals being sold, and some even slaughtered right there in the market. Yikes!

We continued our stroll through Port Louis and walked through China Town, which was pretty darn small. On other side of China Town we discovered the Jummah Mosque, which is the second largest and oldest mosque in Mauritius. It was fascinating being there as it was my first visit to a mosque. The clerics were welcoming and allowed us to wander through portions of the building once we had removed our shoes. This surprised us, since we were wearing shorts, and some of the women had bare shoulders. We were a bit early for afternoon prayers, and decided to press on. We circled back through the sad streets of Port Louis and came upon a Hindu Shrine/Temple complex. It was ornate and beautiful, and we stopped and took some pictures (once again, after removing our shoes). The shrine had a fire walking pit/area that had fresh coals. I was envisioning a rite of passage ceremony, and hoping there would be a ceremony during our stay, and better yet, that we would be allowed to participate. We spoke with the man looking over the shrine, and he informed us that we were a week too late. The big fire walking ceremony had taken place one week prior, and that we would, indeed, have been able to participate. The next ceremony would not be held for almost another year. Just my luck. In my quest to try new things on this voyage around the world, how cool would it have been to add fire-walking to the list? On well, maybe in India!
As we walked back to the ship from the Hindu shrine, I noticed that all the buildings seemed to be made of concrete. I asked around and learned that almost every building in Mauritius is constructed from concrete because of the huge Cyclones that barrel through the region fairly regularly. Evidently a really bad one struck the island in the late 60’s and 70% of the island was under water, and it was about a month until electricity was restored. I suppose if that was my reality I would build out of concrete as well. We passed some folks putting up a building, and they were literally just pouring concrete into a mold. No hammers, no nails… nothing but wet cement and steel bar reinforcement. While this technique might make for strong buildings, they certainly didn’t look very appealing. None of the guidebooks I read were that kind to Port Louis and I was beginning to understand why. Many of the people I spoke with were clear in telling me that in order to enjoy Mauritius, I had to get out of Port Louis. I made a decision not to spend more time than necessary in the city. Once we got back to the waterfront, we learned that the one nice/touristy area in Port Louis was the commercial area across from the ship. The area is under the sweep of urban renewal as the city tries to pull in more of the tourist dollar (or rupee in this case). The new mall/hotel/casino complex was called the Caudan Waterfront and was very clean and western in nature. It was a relief after the rest of Port Louis. I felt a little guilty wanting to be in a resorty area. Being in comfortable spaces is not why I came on Semester at Sea, but I had really been expecting Mauritius to feel like a vacation getaway, and Port Louis was more like an assault on my senses. So, the waterfront was a welcome respite. The food court was most interesting. As I mentioned, Ile Maurice is a blend of the many cultures that have colonized the island, or been brought there for labor. This is also evident in the cuisine. We asked our interport student what was a native Mauritian dish and she laughed b/c there really isn’t a uniquely Mauritian dish. She said her favorite foods were Chinese and Indian. I spoke with some of the other S@S’ers and consulted my guidebooks and learned about 2 awesome restaurants, one Chinese and one Indian, and planned to do dinner at them both, but for a late lunch snack, I enjoyed a nice falafel. Yep, Mediterranean food in the south Indian Ocean. A little geographically inappropriate, but what the hey!

After my late lunch with the RD’s we headed back to the ship to wipe away the sweat of the afternoon. Later that evening, I returned to the waterfront and had dinner with RD Matt, Nurse Practitioner Brenda, Mental Health Pro. Arnie, Lifelong Learner Gary, and Professor Judyie. We were a varied group, but it was a lot of fun. We went to a nice Chinese restaurant, called Grand Ocean City, and ate lots of good food including some of the largest prawns I’ve ever seen. I drank so much Jasmine tea I thought I was going to burst, but I couldn’t help myself b/c it was so good. After dinner, we al strolled leisurely back to the water taxi. I decided to make it an early night and enjoyed the peace and calm of the nearly empty ship.

The next morning I joined RD’s Lesley, Matt, and Dan, for an S@S trip to the Southern part of the island. The whole island is only about 1870 square miles. It’s something like 65 miles long and about 45 miles wide (at their widest and longest points), so not a huge place to begin with, but you’d never know that when driving around because it seemed to take forever to travel around the island. Because of the big and sharp volcano mountains in the middle, all roads going in a huge circle around the island. Also, none of the sites to visit were near one another. But it did afford the chance to enjoy the breezes and see all the sugar plantations. We did eventually get to the interior area in the South to enjoy a day of adventure at a 30 acre forest preserve in the heart of the island. The preserve was located in an area called Chamarel and had stunning views. The volcanic mountain peaks are dramatic and jagged and the lush greenery crawls right up the sides. There were also bright green fields carved into the landscape. We learned that these were more of the ever-present sugar plantations that we saw literally all over the island, but there were also farms for some other local crops. There were a number of fires burning across the valley below us as well. We were told that the locals sometimes burn their trash, but more than likely they were burning their fields since the main harvests had already occurred. In the distance we could see where the valley descended to the water on the far side of the island. The main point of our trip to the South was to do an adventure challenge course complete with zip lines, suspension bridges, nets, and beams. It was a lot of fun, and actually pretty darn strenuous. I got separated from my fellow RDs but got to complete the course with Ron and Jane Wisner (Ron is “the Voice” on the ship and his wife Jane is the Dependant Children Coordinator). They are both fun and we laughed our way through the challenging course. I turned one of the implements into a zipline when it wasn’t meant to be and ended up caught, tangled in the ropes, hanging upside down, and bleeding. Fear not, my uncoordinated dangling booty was laughing the whole time. Many of the students with us got pictures of me hanging there flopping uselessly. I did manage to get untangled, but felt vindicated with Jane ended up the same predicament. Now Ron and Jane are not large people. So Ron flew down the zipline like a bullet, and I will admit I had a moment of terror. For a second there we all thought he might fly off the end of it and straight through the treeline and into the forest. Luckily, he held on tight and we all got out alive, though we were all filthy and covered with little scrapes and blisters. Lunch was a smoked marlin sandwich (unexpectedly yummy) and then we were off for an afternoon at the beach.
Lesley, Dan, Matt, and I played Hearts all the way to Flic en Flac beach (I learned I’m pretty rusty at Hearts). Flic en Flac wins the award for the funniest name town on the trip so far. It is actually a French bastardization of a Dutch name for the town which translates to Free and Flat Land. Flic en Flac is supposed to be a famous Mauritian beach area, but in recent years it has become run down and full of cheapo apartment/condo complexes and touristy bars and clubs. This is the place where most of our students rented villas for our weekend stay, which was immediately evident when we stepped off the bus and into a crowd of many of our S@S students. They were really only just getting out to the beach (at 1:45pm) because they had all been up late the previous night drinking, partying, and cavorting around. Grrrr. We RDs managed to ignore the students and enjoyed the water for a couple hours. While many parts of Mauritius did not impress me, I have to say that the beaches were lovely. The sand is clear and white and the water was some of the most amazing shades of icey blue. The water was also the perfect temperature, was refreshing and cool. Sadly, because of the recent cyclone that passed nearby, the water was still a bit churned up and supposedly not good for snorkeling. I borrowed Lesley’s snorkel, and eventually I found a huge patch of coral off the shore and swam among the fish for a good 30 minutes. I felt like I was inside of a huge tropical aquarium, and have never been so close to so many different species of fish before. They were swimming all around me and even seemed to nip at me on the places where I was scraped from the adventure course (piranhas??) The fish were some amazing colors and shapes and sizes. I even swam over one patch and caught sight of a huge eel. I moved away quickly and found a giant abalone shell opening and closing. There were bunches of sea urchins and others amazingly beautiful sites down there. And they said it wasn’t good snorkeling conditions! Eventually we all headed back to the ship to clean up. That night I dined with my friends Shayla, Lesley, Judyie, Brenda, and one of the professors Mary (the lady who wisked up Table Mountain). We ate amazingly good Indian food at a restaurant called Namaste. Mmmm… I am really taking a big liking to Indian cuisine, and may have to insert it into my stateside culinary rotation. We gorged on Rogan Josh, Tandoori Chicken, Tikka Masala, and other yumminess. And don’t even get me started on the rice… Mmm. After dinner we managed to roll ourselves onto the water taxi and back to the ship. I had to be back by 8pm since I was the RD-on-duty for the night. I spent the evening making my flight plans in India and checking my email. I had a blissful nights sleep and received no calls. I thought that meant everything was nice and quiet, but I was wrong. The following morning I found Dean Larry meeting with Mauritian police in Purser’s Square. I hadn’t been notified, but one our students was victimized in her beach villa and our administrative team was in the middle of responding. They did an incredible job, and again reaffirmed how glad I am to have such solid people on the voyage with me. It was not until later that I realized how serious that situation really was.

Dean Larry left to continue his work, and I met up with RD Mindy for breakfast. We dined with Nurse Brenda, and Prof Bianca & her partner Sue. Bianca and Sue were going to rent a car and drive around the island. They invited us, but Mindy and I had the urge to be beachy and snorkel, so we declined. Our main goal, was just to get the heck out of Port Louis! At the last minute one of the awesome students in my many clubs, Priya, decided to tag along with us. We quickly stopped in the market before grabbing one of the cheap island busses for the town of Grand Baie. The express bus only cost about a dollar and was nice and air-conditioned, a great way to travel through the sugar cane plantations. Mindy, Priya, and I agreed that the island had a lot more charm if you don’t spend any time in Port Louis (sad, but true). Grand Baie used to be a fishing village, but now it resembles San Tropez (well, what I imagine San Tropez to look like) with hoity-toity expensive boutiques, resorty hotels, and pretentious restaurants. The bay itself is really pretty. It’s not tremendously large, but was chock full of yachts and sailboats and all sorts of expensive rigs. Mindy, Priya, and I walked around the bay and then continued along the main highway out of Grand Baie to the smaller and more local town of Peréybère. The walk was supposed to be about 2 km and started out very pretty. But then we had to leave the beach, and were forced to walk along the more industrial highway area. We managed to find a path back to the water and walked along some private beaches until we ran into some rocks we couldn’t pass. We trespassed through someone’s yard and their front gate (security systems be damned) to get back to the main road. I had my guidebook out and in front of me the whole time in case we had to play “clueless Americans” if the homeowners discovered us (which luckily they did not). Thankfully we were stealthy in our 30 second criminal caper and did not experience the inside of any Mauritian prisons. We finished our trek North and found the Peréybère Beach. It was a nice little beach that was, indeed, full of locals, and had a number of little cafés, food stands, and shops along the water. We set down our towels and I went in search of some food. As I bought myself a little curry sandwich for lunch, out popped practically half of the staff from the ship, including Bianca, Sue, and Brenda. Evidently they all rented a villa up in Peréybère in order to avoid all the students who were down South in Flic en Flac. Literally 15 or so of my favorite staff folks and professors just appeared along the beach area for the day. We all swam in the water and basked in the sun and relaxed. So much fun.

As the afternoon sun started to fade, and it began to look like rain, Mindy, Priya, and I began to look for a bus. We finally caved and hopped in a cab for the trip back to the ship. It felt like an extravagance, but it really only cost us 500 Mauritian Rupees which worked out to like 12 bucks for the 3 of us to ride 30 minutes back to the ship. Plus, our taxi driver and his wife were quite nice and took extra effort to figure out how to drive us all the way back to the ship itself. When we arrived, they couldn’t believe how big the ship was. They literally parked the cab and got out to stare, mouths wide open, at the enormity of the ship. I realized how much I take our floating campus for granted. I was thankful for their reminder. We said our goodbyes to the cabbie and ducked into the ship. I cleaned up before heading back across on a water taxi for a last meal before our trip to India. I lost my staff friends and ended up eating dinner with a couple of my favorite students, Alex & Lydia at the Mauritian equivalent of a sports bar. It started to rain as we made our way back to the ship. We had about 20-30 students who were late for on-ship time, but luckily they were all there by about 15 minutes after the deadline.

It wasn’t until later that we learned that our students had caused a lot of damage in their villas. We heard reports from some of the students that they couldn’t believe how destructive their peers were. They were embarrassed at the behavior they saw, and the damage that had been caused, especially down in the Flic en Flac area where literally hundreds of our students had been staying, clubbing, and partying. We will be implementing a whole slew of new guidelines as we move on to the second half of our voyage. I guess the students really did take the Spring Break mentality into Mauritius, which I think is sad. However, despite what Kovila, the interport students said, Mauritius really did feel like it was all about the beaches. As I process my time on the island, I am not remembering Mauritius fondly. I wouldn’t call it a throw away port, but I don’t feel that traveling there has enriched my S@S experience. I don’t see it as a place I need to return, nor is it a place I would recommend for others to visit. My friend Dia, the Registrar, put it into perspective for me. She said that after being in a place like Cape Town, what port could we possibly have visited and not been extremely let down? We almost had to come to a place that allowed us all to decompress, and not feel too guilty for not exploring and really understanding the culture. In that respect Mauritius really was perfect. And my time there has really made me all the more excited for India. I can’t wait.

Love to all back at home. XOXO
-Drew

Captain's Dinner and Rough Seas

2007-03-14T17:26:00.000-07:00

The last few days at sea have been rough. The seas outside of Cape Town were full of choppy waves, and because of cyclones north of Madagascar we’ve all been feeling it. The Captain changed our course and we hugged the coastline of South Africa as long as we could to try and find calm seas. Once we veered towards Madagascar, we were really moving. The cabin stewards had to go into the rooms on my deck and use special wrenches to close and lock the portholes just to make sure no water seeped in accidentally. They complained, but didn’t find much sympathy from me since my porthole is permanently closed (since I don’t have one). He he.

We’re all gearing up for the Sea Olympics which will be taking place the first day back from Mauritius. The events are wide ranging, and I will gladly describe them after the big day. My folks in the Aegean Sea will be donning green for the day. They have decided to name themselves the Ninja Turtles. Even though there are a ton of events, they are o excited that people filled every spot and I won’t be competing. That suits me just fine since I get to be a judge for the Tug-of-War, the Synchronized Swim, and the Lip Sync Contest. They should all be pretty fun to watch. Even though I bought a green t-shirt in Cape Town (for the Cape Town Springboks, local Rugby team) I don’t like it very much. I think I may be treating myself to a S@S t shirt tomorrow. I think it will be a more fitting uniform for the big day.

I was invited to my Captain’s Dinner this past week. It was quite the resplendent affair. I dressed up as fancy as I could in my black suit, with black shirt and silver tie. I was lookin’ pretty damn nice. I made a point of swinging past the Student Life Desk to collect a couple of compliments (b/c face it, we all like to get compliments). The evening began in the Faculty/Staff Lounge where we received cocktails and delicious hor d’ouerves. This dinner was attended by a few faculty, and a number of staff members. When we got to the dining room, I learned I was seated at the Captain’s Table. On one side was my friend Nurse Emily, and on the other was Phoebe Amante, the wife of one of my favorite professors David Amante (who led the protests on Apartheid Day and began the “Down with Drew” chants) Phoebe is also a sweet and funny lady. I was glad with my seat, especially once I learned that Emily had our friend Matt (the IT guy) swap my seat assignment before we sat down. Evidently Emily wanted better company, and I was happy to provide it. Captain Jeremy told us stories of his many many years as a Captain, and his life traveling the world. His new bride joined our ship in Cape Town and made her first public appearance at the dinner. She and the Captain were seated across from me. My guess is that the Captain is in his late 50s. His wife (Apple, is her name) on the other hand, cannot be more than 20 or 25 at most. Evidently she is a model in the Philippines. The two have been married for only 6 months, and this is her first time on the ocean. He seas were pretty darn rough that night, so I can’t imagine she was enjoying her trip very much. She wasn’t able to eat a single bite, and excused herself after 30 minutes or so in order to lie down. She seemed very nice, but had a green pallor thanks to the waves. I wish her luck adjusting. Even now, having gained my sea legs, I have felt a little green from all the motion of the ocean.

The dinner we were served was mouthwateringly awesome. We started with cantelope and Serrano ham, Next we had French Onion Soup, followed by an excellent Caesar Salad, and the main course of either perfectly cooked Beef Wellington, or Blackened Red Snapper (I had the Wellington, but got to taste the Snapper and both were great). Dessert was a Chocolate Brûlée. After dinner, many of uf moved back to the Faculty/Staff Lounge for after dinner cocktails. I purchased my first alcoholic beverage on the ship and got a Sambuca (I was thinking of you the whole time Dad). Then the staff members from dinner brought everyone down to the staff area on Deck 3 forward and the party continued on until late in the evening. I finally went off to bed at 2am.

The next morning was Global Studies Exam #2 for the students, which meant Staff Pool Party #2. Sadly, due to the rocky seas, the pool had been emptied. Grrrr… Wasn’t meant to be. Instead we sat on the deck and sunned ourselves without the students. I read some books and enjoyed the quiet… till they finished the exam. The last few days I have been reading a lot more. I’ve managed to finish 3 books, including the Alchemist. It was really great. I don’t remember who gave me the recommendation, but thank you! I have also developed a new addiction for Spider Solitaire. It is on the computer at the Student Life Desk and during my shifts I rarely take my eyes off the screen. Sadly, I learned I also have Spider Solitaire on my laptop. I may never power it down again!

Our arrival in Port Louis, Mauritius is going to be behind schedule. The storms in the Indian Ocean have made it so choppy that we can’t reach the speeds we need to get there on time. Initially we were going to be almost a full day late, but now it seems we’ll only be late by 4-5 hours. Everyone seems to be thinking of Mauritius like Spring Break. Even I am having a hard time planning beyond the beach and snorkeling. Ahh.. why fight it. We all need to relax a bit. Another week and a half from now and we’ll be reaching the halfway point in our voyage. It’s too depressing to think about, so I will choose to just end this update and head to bed. Mauritius awaits us tomorrow. Love to all at home.

-Drew

Sala Kakuhle South Africa

2007-03-12T16:56:00.000-07:00

Back on the ship sailing slowly away from the African continent and feeling gosh darn sad to see South Africa sail away. Ok, it’s night time, so I can’t actually see Africa in the distance anymore, but you’ll forgive my rhetorical slip. We were supposed to leave late last night, but because of high winds we were still docked in Cape Town Harbor until 1600 (4pm in non-nautical time). It was an awful tease to look out the window and see such an amazing city but not be allowed to disembark and enjoy it for just one more day. But now here I am, back on the ship and stuck with the task of collecting me thoughts and typing them up in some coherent fashion. This feels particularly daunting for this port. How does one sum up Mother Africa in a brief blog entry. That’s the stuff nobel laureates and Pulitzer Prize winners are left to do. Nonetheless, I will try… after a quick pre-Cape Town recap.

Once I was cleared from my quarantine, I was able to hear about the Apartheid Simulation. Many students treated it as a game and did not take it seriously. Others took the whole thing so seriously that they felt hurt as a result. During the sit-in I described in an earlier blog, the students who crossed the protest group really felt affected by their privilege. There were a number of students who were so frustrated by the whole situation that they were reduced to tears. I don’t relish in their discomfort, but I knew that in a sense, it will facilitate their greater understanding of oppression as it exists in South Africa and the rest of the world. A lot of people were upset with the protestors because they were not punished for protesting, as they would have been in a real anti-Apartheid protest. The lack of real “teeth” to the simulation made protesting seem easy… or so the student monitors felt. In the end, Prof. Judyie Al Bilali, a woman I greatly admire, pointed out that protest really IS that easy. Eventually, a subjugated group will rise up and say “they can’t kill us all” and protest, regardless of the consequences. When she framed things that way, people began to see the simulation as more of a success. In the end, I think everyone learned a lot, and professors and students have referred to the simulation in conversations and lectures even days later. I’m still a little bitter that I missed so much of it. But, it meant I was healthy for Cape Town, and that’s what mattered most.

One of the joys of being let out of quarantine was that I got to hear Desmond Tutu lecture about the miracle of South Africa before we got to port. He told us that we are all awkward chickens learning to understand oppression and about the world. He encouraged us all to become eagles flying high above these issues and facilitating great change in the world. Later in that class we had a Q&A session with him. The humorous thing was that the questions didn’t really matter much. He would begin his answer referring to the questions, but each response would lead him on a journey where he told us about the history of the struggle against Apartheid and the reality the country now faced. I don’t ever remember meeting someone so deep, or so powerful a speaker, or such a key historical figure. Through his words, and the contributions from some amazing professors on-board I learned that South Africa truly is a miraculous nation. The scourge of Apartheid has left a sad mark on the country, but when the white regime finally ended in the mid-90’s there really should have been a bloodbath with the transition of power. There was such hatred, such oppression, and such anger that few would have been surprised to see civil war and violence in the streets. However, something entirely different took place. The people of South Africa aspired to something greater. Through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission the country began a long healing process. People admitted to the horrible acts that had been committed under Apartheid and were often granted amnesty. Everyone agreed that the past was over and that the whole nation needed to move forward. It is wholly unfamiliar from what we know in the United States where 150 years after the official end of slavery and the Civil War we are still left with cultural wounds and divides. There are literally freed black political prisoners living next door to their former prison guards. They are now friends and work together to forge a new South African reality. What we learned was that these examples are not exceptions, but rather the rule in South Africa. It was interesting to learn that this is a nation full of cultural divide. The white Europeans are mainly Dutch/Boer, but there is also a healthy dose of British and even Portuguese influence from their colonial time. There are Indians and Asian population centers in S.A., but the greatest diversity is in the black African population. South Africa has 12 official languages including English and Afrikaans (a Dutch variant). The other 10 are African languages including Xhosa (which I heard most in Cape Town), Zulu (which I head on safari), San, Tsutsi (which I am spelling wrong) and a host of others. Thus communicating is not always easy in this country. However the people here are now extremely proud of that heritage. Their new national flag combines the many traditions and cultures, and their new national anthem (which we heard as we left… more on that later) has sections in all sorts of different languages. It’s as if the whole country was reborn in 1994 with the first free elections. They started completely over and wiped the slate clean. The most astonishing part about it, is that everyone really bought into the concept of a new South Africa. Sure, there is still a tremendous disparity in the distribution of wealth, and living conditions, but the country is taking active steps to bring about change, and the people of S.A. are behind it all driving the changes. I wish we could wipe the slate clean and start over when it comes to many aspects of American culture. South Africa really provides a great example for the rest of the world in terms of reconciliation and moving forward after a very difficult time.

Sadly, the rich diversity is a new aspect to the formal traditions of the country b/c under Apartheid all blacks were treated the same (or mistreated, being a more accurate term). It was fascinating talking to the people in the port. In every conversation people talked about life after 1994, or after Mandela was freed, or after democratic elections. Everyone framed their new reality in a different way… but no one used the word Apartheid. It’s as if the reality was so painful that even having the word in their mouth, or hearing it aloud reminds one of that dark time. South Africa, while rich in culture, is not a wealthy nation. They also have an incredible problem with the spread of AIDS and HIV. The average life span of an American is 78.7 years. To contrast, the average South African lives only to 47 years. Such is the problem with health care in S.A. And this is the reality for almost all African nations. S.A. is lucky b/c it can afford to feed its people. No other country in Africa can produce enough food to feed its citizenry.

Ok, so I laid all that heavy stuff on you… now let me bring things back a bit. I roused my sorry butt out of bed at 6am in order to see Africa appear on the horizon. I went out on Deck 7 just before the sky started to get some color in the distance. Watching the sun rise over Cape Town and Table Mountain was one of the things I was told to do by everyone who has ever done this voyage. I’m so thankful for their advice b/c it was well worth it. A lot of folks had the same idea and came out to see Africa welcome us. However, we were all in for rude awakening. It was freakin’ COLD out there. And the big gusts of wind did not help matters at all. I lasted about 2 minutes before ducking into the Faculty/Staff Lounge. That was a great idea b/c the huge windows gave us the best views, in a warm room, and by standing on the chairs we could see right over the cold shivering student heads outside the windows. Ahhh… the little perks really are the best. From my warm perch w/ all my staff friends we saw the sun rise over Table Mountain, and over Africa. It began as a dull green, then a warm pink, and fingers of orange stretched over the sky as the port city slowly came into view. It was a very dramatic arrival to say the least, and an awesome way to begin my African experience.

My first impression of Cape Town (or Kaapstad, in Afrikaans) was that it feels incredibly European. The Dutch and English influences are undeniable. My Lonely Planet guide books said that I would constantly be asking myself “I’m in Africa?” and it was accurate on that point. I was constantly pinching myself to remember I was in Africa. Our ship was docked in the Victory and Albert Waterfront which is a very wealthy area of the city that has undergone urban renewal in the last few years. As a result we were in the center of everything. We stepped off the ship and were essentially in the middle of huge outdoor mall, restaurant zone, bar/music scene, craft market, and hotel complex. Everything was clean and beautiful and picturesque with Table Mountain in the distance. Suffice it to say, we were ideally situated, and publicly displayed. It was quite funny to walk past and see random tourists stopping to photograph our ship as it sat in the harbor. And this happened for our entire stay.

Immigration was easy, and handled by the ship so little needed to be done. We had a diplomatic briefing from the US State Dept. reps who told us all about how wonderful South Africa is, and gave us even more info about the troubles currently facing the country, and a few travel tips to keep us safe. Later we were officially welcomed by the governor of Western Cape, the state in which Cape Town lies. Gov. Ibrahim Rasoul came on board and delivered a nice address about the world having solidarity with South Africa, and we as individuals having solidarity with South Africans as we explored Cape Town and the rest of the country. Before the ship was cleared I got my first glance of Desmond Tutu’s wife Lea. She has the same spritely spirit as her husband. They were so cute as they saw each other and embraced for the first time in a few weeks. She was in traditional African dress, but on her feet were a pair of bright lavender Crocs. Now THAT really made me smile (especially since I was wearing mine!). Lea is joining us here in Cape Town and will stay with us for the rest of the voyage.

Once the ship was cleared, it took a while to get off since the narrow gangway was off of Deck 5. I quickly ran and sold my S@S trip to Robben Island to RD Mindy and met up with Nurse Emily for a birthday celebration outing. Emily’s 30th birthday was the day we arrived in Cape Town, and even though mine was about 5 weeks prior, I saved my big celebration to coincide with our arrival in Cape Town. We joined a group of students and took a 20 minute drive out of the city to Sky Dive Cape Town. Long ago I decided I would celebrate the end of my third decade by hurling myself out of a plane. Thanks to Yas Djadali a friend, UCI colleague, and previous S@S RD for the inspiration, and being my guinea pig. While I was terrified by the idea of skydiving, the reality was really not bad at all. The establishment was well run, their gear was obviously well cared for, and the staff was meticulous about everything they did. I felt perfectly safe as I prepared for my jump. You’ve heard of those skydive companies that make you go through a 3-4 hour course before you jump? Well, that’s not Sky Dive Cape Town. All the instruction I received was delivered in the 30 seconds before I was hurtled out of the plane. Emily and I were put in our harnesses, duct taped our digital cameras to our wrists, and walked out to a tiny miniscule itty bitty little twin engine prop plane. Up walked two skydivers fresh from their last jump. We squeezed into the plane (no larger than a phone booth on the inside), and took off. In the air, I learned my jump partner was named Jean. He told me to sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight. It wasn’t until we were up in the air that I really began to freak out. Yes, the scenery was amazing, with the South Atlantic Coastline, farmland, and Table Mountain & the Cape of Good Hope in the distance. But with each foot we climbed higher into the air, my level of anxiety climbed as well. Oddly, I was more calm than I am before any major rollercoaster ride. The butterflies in my stomach matched the ones I get before a job interview or a big exam. Emily, however, got a kick out of the fact I started to sweat once we reached about 8,000 feet. That’s when it occurred to me that I just paid 1,250 Rand ($175) to jump out of a perfectly good plane. What was I thinking?!? But by that point, I was committed (like… to an asylum). As I said, about 30 seconds before our leap, Jean hooked on to me and told me that when the door opened, I should swing my legs out the door, throw them under the plane, rest me head back against his shoulder, cross my arms over my chest and let him do the rest. That really was the extent of my instructions for the whole experience. Once we hit about 11,000 feet and then the door opened. There was a single jumper who squeezed in with us at the last second, and he was gone before the door was even fully open, and then it was my turn. I turned on my camera, swung my legs out the door, and then… I was flying.

It’s tough to describe the sensation of a skydiving freefall. I expected it to be a terrifying feeling, but nothing could be further from the truth. The Earth doesn’t feel like it is rushing up at you. There is no sense of impending doom. I felt like I was floating in the air, as if I was an angel. I hope this doesn’t sound hokey, but while I was floating, it occurred to me that I was about as close to God as I could ever hope to be. There was an utter sense of peace. Ok, enough schmaltzy philosophy. Suffice it to say it was amazing. I remember feeling the cool air pushing past my face and that my mouth went instantly dry, and that even though I was whooping and hollering at the top of my lungs, I could barely hear anything but the sound of the wind in my ears. Jean pulled the rip cord after about 45 seconds and we were snapped up by the huge purple and green parachute. At that point, Jean and I floated for about 4 or 5 minutes down to the ground. As we floated, we talked about how lucky he was to do this for a living, and the parts of Africa I was seeing beneath me. He even let me take the steering reins (not sure of their technical name) and taught me to steer, and take us into some cool spins and loops, and other maneuvers. Again, I’m surprised to say that I was not afraid when we moved and twisted. It felt safer and smoother than any rollercoaster I’ve been on, despite the fact that it was probably far less safe. Jean seamlessly steered us to the landing site back at the Sky Dive Cape Town compound. Since I was far taller than he was, I had to raise my legs into the air as he landed us. I trotted a few steps, but ended up on my butt in the sandpit landing area. Jean unhooked himself, shook my hand and was gone in an instant to pick-up a new parachute and catch up with his next jumping partner. I stood by and watched Emily’s landing about 30 seconds later. We went back inside the bunker and chatted with the students who were preparing to go up for their jumps before catching the van back to the ship. The entire rest of the day, and well into the next, Emily and I had the biggest shit-eating grins on our faces (pardon the expression). In the two hours following the jump, I just kept saying “wow” to myself both out loud and in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing the whole experience had been. You know, I thought that skydiving was one of those life-goals that you do once, and then cross it off your list. But, I can completely understand how people think of it addictive. I’d love to be able to tell Mom & Dad that I won’t ever do it again, but… I’m pretty sure that I’ll be going again sometime in the not-too-distant future. Hell, I’ve heard folks planning skydiving adventures in Mauritius and Honolulu. You never know… (sorry Mom & Dad).

Once we got back to the ship, I walked around the port area for a little bit and explored the waterfront mall, and the shops nearby. The port area really is breathtaking. All the Dutch and European architecture with the African influences, and Table Mountain in the distance changing colors as the sun set over Cape Town. Every few minutes was like a new post card view. For some meteorological reason there is often a layer of clouds that covers the top of Table Mountain and visibly spills and moves over the side. It’s fascinating to watch. The effect is called the table cloth on Table Mountain (for obvious reasons). It enhanced the view a lot. Adding to the postcard effect was the sounds of a traditional African singing group performing in the port area. I was glad to have a whole week there. I returned to the ship to the ship to meet up with a big group of staffers to head into Cape Town for a birthday dinner with Emily. We all met up in Purser’s Square and were preparing to head out, when a group of students came back on the ship. They were practically dragging one of our female students who was completely wasted. Mind you, it was only 7:45pm and she was already obliterated. The students who brought her back to the ship weren’t even the people who had been drinking with her. They had just been the good Samaritans that made sure she got home safe. Our group had to wait while this woman was transported to the hospital (she turned out to be fine later). Since the entire medical team was planning to go out to dinner with Emily, it changed our plans a bit. Eventually, we all made it out to Long Street, which is a main thoroughfare in downtown Cape Town. It’s a strip that has loads of restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and shops. We ended up going to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. As you might imagine, the South African take on Mexican food is quite unique. Nothing tasted particularly authentic, and the strawberry margaritas that I shared with a couple faculty members were… hmm… interesting? We agreed that they just threw some frozen strawberries and tequila in a blender and served it up. While the food wasn’t superb, the company was, and a fun time was had by all, especially the birthday girl. Emily and I talked non-stop about skydiving, and everyone was chatting about the safaris we were all about to embark upon. Afterwards, we checked out a couple bars. One was called Cool Runnings and had a reggae Jamaican theme, and the other was an Irish pub. It was funny to me that I traveled around the world and didn’t actually seeing anything of the true culture during my first night in Africa. I eventually broke away from the group and checked out a liberal part of the city closer to the waterfront. I met up with a couple of students from the ship and explored a few more establishments. What I learned was that South Africans are very much like Americans in the way that they socialize. I was also struck by the fact that the places I went had almost exclusively white clientele despite the fact that 77% of the country is black, and another sizable chunk of the population comes from various parts of Asia. Cape Town, as the Mother City of Africa, is considered one of the most liberal. It is a center for music, the arts, and the gay capital of all of Africa. In the end, I really just felt like I was in any old bar back in the states, which was comforting, but at the same time a bit of a let down.

The next morning I took tings a little easier. I allowed myself to sleep in a bit, and then wandered into the port area to see if I could get out to see Robben Island. I heard a nasty rumor that all tickets to Robben Island were sold for our stay in the port, and I was worried I would miss out, but lo and behold, I bought the last ticket for the last ferry the day following. I shopped around for some postcards, and other knick knacks until I met my friend and fellow staff member Shayla, and a few of my students from the People of Color group. We all agreed to head over to Long Street and check out Greenmarket Square. Greenmarket is like a flea market/artisan fair/craft area where folks can buy souveniers. I wandered around a bit at the market, and also in the Pan African Market, where they sell goods from all over Africa, but decided I didn’t want to buy anything unless I had a connection with what I was buying. So I decided to hold onto my money. Shayla, and one of our students Anna, and I decided to treat ourselves to lunch in a nice restaurant overlooking Greenmarket Square. At the Butcher’s Block (that was it’s name) I enjoyed a lunch of chips (French Fries) and Ostrich Steak. The steak was pretty darn good. It tasted a lot like beef, which surprised me since I assumed it was going to taste like chicken (afterall… doesn’t everything?). After lunch and walking around, we split into a couple of groups. One of the students, Nicole, and I took a cab over to the District Six Museum. During the 60’s when Apartheid took off in South Africa, the government forced all of the citizens from an area of Cape Town to pick up and move out of their homes b/c they were in District Six, a desirable location near the waterfront. The residents were forced to move to Cape Flats, which is where the townships are located, in an economically depressed area. The museum chronicles the businesses, families, and community that existed in District Six before the forced relocations. It also describes the process of forced removal. Sadly, after the government razed all of the buildings in the area to the ground, they didn’t actually develop large sections of the razed land. Since the end of Apartheid, the government had assisted many previous residents to return to District Six. The museum does a great job at conveying the emotion behind the whole ordeal. I know I was affected by everything, and I know Nicole, and some of the other students we met there were as well.

I came back to the ship, and relaxed in the Faculty/Staff Lounge to play a few hands of cards with Beth, my boss. Then she and Melanie, the Asst. Director of Student Life headed off to dinner. I met up with RD Tom & his partner Emily, IT guy Matt, and his wife Renee (who flew to Cape Town to meet up with us) and nurse Emily. We all agreed that we didn’t feel up for venturing to Long Street or doing anything too crazy with our evening. Instead we walked around the waterfront looking for a relaxing restaurant and some nice African jazz. Unfortunately, since it was Saturday night, most places were really full. We finally found a place called City Grill that was open, and serving some interesting foods. It turned out that the place was amazing. Inside, we saw a few faculty members, including Bianca Murphy & her partner Sue (love them!). My dinner with these fun friends was a real Cape Town highlight. We were there until after 11 b/c we just had so much fun. The three bottles of South African wine probably helped to make things funnier for all. The meal was also fantastic. I had an appetizer of Holoumi cheese, which is a goat cheese that is grilled and served with fruit. It tasted like a cross between mozzarella sticks and saganaki flambé (think Greek food). It was pretty good. Tom and I both had an African animal skewer for our main course. The animals on the skewer were impala, kudu, ostrich, and warthog. There was also a sausage made from springbok venison. It was so much fun tasting these different animals knowing I would be seeing them the following days on safari yes, I realize how morbid that sounds). Even the vegetarians at the table tasted the kudu when we raved about it. I hadn’t ever heard of kudu before, and certainly have never seen it served in the states, but let me tell you, it is officially the best tasting animal ever. (For the record, it is a large antelope/deer animal with beautiful twisting horns). My dessert was a Cape Town treat of Dutch Bread Pudding. It was just so-so. But I really don’t know what could have compared after dining on kudu.

The next morning, I woke early and joined an S@S trip to visit the black townships. These areas really emphasize the disparity of wealth in the country. We were told that the people who live in the townships welcome our presence there. Our being there helps highlight their situation, brings them tourist dollars, and gives them a chance to learn from us as we learn from them. These are communities that go to great lengths with very little. We were told that even though they have so little, the residents do not seek handouts. We were warned against giving away food, or candy, or money to the children we encountered because they would grow to expect that from visitors to the townships. Instead, we were told to interact with the children and other residents, to learn from their way of life, and to share our lives with them as well. Our guide Jimmie told us that most of the residents in the townships spoke some English, but the predominate language of the area is Xhosa. There are 11 or 12 official languages in South Africa, but Xhosa was spoken most in the Cape Town area. Xhosa, much like the other tribal and native languages of the area uses a lot of clicks and tongue-knocking noises that are integral parts of the language. The X in Xhosa is actually sounded by clicking your tongue on the roof of your mouth. It took a lot of practice to just be able to say the word “Xhosa,” but I was glad to be able to master pronouncing a few words and names by the end of the day.

We first drove through Khayelitsha Township, which is one of the youngest in Cape Flats, and saw small homes and shanties built from cardboard, wood, corrugated steel, and whatever other supplies could be located. Many of the homes had electricity by way of single wires coming into the houses. They had makeshift windows, and other small amenities, but not running water. Each small section of houses shared one tap. Residents had to go to that tap and then bring water back into their small homes. The day was dreary and rainy which seemed to suit the atmosphere of the neighborhood we passed through. But I began to notice things as we passed people on the streets. They would stop and wave to us, especially the children. They were glad to see us in their neighborhood. I had expected to encounter people upset over their circumstance, or depressed for their status. But on the contrary, they were joyful. Yes, they recognized that their situation needed improvement, and they (individually, and as a community) were taking those steps together, and fighting for their rights. But there was no “woe is me” mentality. It was uplifting. One of the most interesting things I learned was that it’s only during the last 5 years that the government in South Africa has allowed for the roads in the townships to be included on maps of the area. Until that point, visitors were directed away from the townships, and knowledge about them was limited. The roads themselves are actually well paved and kept up by the government, so it seemed all the more strange that they would be ignored when putting together maps. We passed a large graveyard full of headstones, and our guide Jimmie told us that funerals in the townships were grand affairs. People would live in small shanties, but they always set aside large amounts of money to pay for elaborate funerals. When someone dies, it is the expectation that their family members will have a large gathering and serve a lot of food, and then they also have to pay for a huge funeral procession, a grave site, and an expensive headstone. There are even funeral societies who attend all of the funerals, almost as if they were social events, in order to honor those who have passed on. Jimmie told us that due to the ravages of HIV and AIDS, there are many deaths, and many funerals each weekend. It was pretty morose to think about, but interesting nonetheless.

We passed a small cross on the ground which honored the life of Amy Biehl. She was a young white student from the United States who came to South African in the early nineties in order to fight Apartheid. Being a white woman in the townships at that time of racial anger and hatred was not safe, and as a result she was stabbed to death by a group of black residents who did not know of her work to support their struggle. In the tremendous spirit of reconciliation, that we learned is so strong in South Africa, her parents asked that her daughters killers not be punished. Instead, they asked that a memorial be put in place, and a museum and cultural center was developed to further support the positive changes in the South African community. I tried really hard to put myself in the position of Amy Biehl’s parents, and to think if I would have been so forgiving. I’m sad to say I don’t know that I could have done the same thing, but it was another example of the miracle of South Africa’s transition from out of Apartheid.

We moved on to Gugulethu Township where we met a sangoma, or what we might call a witch doctor. His “office” was a large dark barn/warehouse full of animal skins, and bones, and herbs, and plants. It was also pitch black inside, in order for him to commune with the spirits of his ancestors. He was not there for very long because he was called away on an emergency of some sort, but our guide Jimmie explained the sangoma’s role to us. Even though many of the residents in Cape Flats are Christian, and have medical doctors in the Western tradition, almost everyone also has a sangoma of their own. They go to this person to fix what ails them, from stomach problems, to gossiping too much, or even to fix up a love potion to convince someone to fall for you. Some sangomas even interpret the future by reading the entrails of slaughtered animals and other signs. Thankfully, we didn’t witness any of these rituals. It was pretty interesting stuff, but I couldn’t imagine taking a medicine created in that room. It just felt unsanitary, and I was acutely aware of my western biases. One thing I found of great interest, was that among all of the tribal idols, dried herbs, and desiccated animal carcasses, there were condoms. In at least 4 or 5 places in the room, condoms hung among the other tools of the sangoma. HIV and AIDS has ravaged the population in South Africa, and I was really glad to see that even the sangomas preach safe sex.

We walked through Gugulethu Township for a bit and saw the progression of housing. Gugulethu is older than Khayelitsha, and many of the houses have solid foundations and more sturdy walls. By and large, they have electricity, and plumbing, though oftentimes it is rudimentary. We saw the schools, which were each sponsored by different companies, and they seemed to be functioning well. We also saw some community centers for recycling and water treatment. Along many of the streets, we passed little home businesses. They were each run out of flatbed trailers parked in front of people’s homes. There were many devoted to hair braiding and styling, and others for medical treatment, more sangomas, and some selling fruit (all imported from other areas, as no fruit is grown locally). We saw where the government had recently built small apartment style buildings, and how the community was working to make use of the space. While we walked we encountered many residents who offered friendly greetings, and were greeted by a lot of children. They were the friendliest children I have ever seen. They were fascinated with cameras and seeing their pictures appear on the screens. They would pose and smile, and gladly offer hugs. They explored out pale white skin, and strange stringy hair, and just seemed to be full of life and laughter. There was no common language, as they spoke almost no English, and we certainly knew no Xhosa, but we all managed to communicate pretty well anyways.

Jimmie stopped our group and bought some township beer for us to sample. It is brewed in the townships and is a staple drink for residents. It has no alcohol content, but it made from fermented grains. He brought it over in two large containers that looked to be shiny new paint gallon containers. The beer looked like a thick white frothy milky mess, and had a mass of bubbles on the top. He picked up one of the containers and showed us how to taste it. First you blow the bubbles out of the way, and then take a big sip. I was the first brave soul to try it, and I have to tell you it was some of the nastiest stuff I’ve ever encountered. It was like a cross between skunky stale beer, and sourdough bread. And it was thick, and you could see chunks of stuff floating in it. Everything in it was organic, and it was safe to drink, but I cannot imagine drinking a large glass of it. Ugh. A few of the folks in our group said it tasted sweet, and they enjoyed it…. uhm….. not me. But as Jimmie pointed out to us, our purchasing the beer, was yet another way for us to give back to their community, and made them all the more glad for our presence. I also think they enjoyed watching us cringe and make faces as we enjoyed their murky brew. Jimmie brought us to a community and craft center where we met a group of artisans who had learned the art of pottery and using a kiln, as well as metal working. They were in turn teaching these skills to others in the townships, so they could go out into industry and be skilled laborers and earn a better income. The goods produced were also sold for more income in the townships. We learned that the center also did programming for children to teach them about the world, and engage them in activities to keep them occupied and educated. The people in the center were so friendly and their crafts were really ingenious as well.

After our walk through Gugulethu, and our visit to the community center, we moved on to Langa Township, which is the oldest of the townships in Cape Flats. The homes were more established, and had more and better amenities, and resembled more of a neighborhood as might be recognized back home. Being Sunday, our first stop in Langa was to attend a church service. We stopped off at the Langa First Baptist Church and could hear the sound of a church choir finishing their song as we got off the bus. We made our way inside in time for the reverend to take the stage and begin his sermon. The church was really one large warehouse full of pews, but it was packed in there. The congregation moved from their pews and squeezed in order to make room for us, and I sat back and listened to the sermon. The preacher was full of energy and his sermon sounded very daunting and dark. He was shouting the entire time, and it sounded as though he was using threats of fire & brimstone, but his words were all about God’s love. It was odd to have such a loving message delivered in such a powerful but angry tone. He switched from Xhosa to English back and forth at will, so it wasn’t very easy to follow, but the congregation loved it. Sadly we didn’t get to hear anymore music. We stayed about 30 minutes, and it seemed that the preacher was only just getting started on his sermon. On our way to the bus, I saw en empty can of Tab Cola. Remember Tab? Well I commented to a student that I didn’t know they still served Tab in Africa. Her response was that she had never heard of Tab. I polled a few more students, and none of them had any idea what I was talking about. Wow, am I old!

We drove on in Langa to a restaurant and community center area called Lelápa. Lelápa is run out of the house of our hostess whose name was Sylvia. Sylvia told us that during the last 30 years she had expanded her home and created the restaurant to serve the community and cater to guests like us. She told us stories of the townships, and about the work she does in the community and about the visitors she has had from around the world. She was so funny, and such a motherly figure. Her business employs young men and women from the townships and also gives them the opportunity to learn a trade and give back to their community. Sylvia was so fun and made us all laugh telling us that Americans and Europeans had their lived judged by the clock and by time. You have to look at your watch to know if you say “good morning,” “good afternoon,” or “good evening.” But in Xhosa you simply say “molo.” She had a bunch of other examples that really did make it obvious that westerners always do seem to be in a big hurry. The meal that she and the women in her kitchen prepared for us was amazing. There were at least 20-30 dishes of all sorts of African delights for us to sample. All manners of vegetables and meats. Nothing was too foreign, other than some ostrich, but I had never tasted any of it cooked the same way. Most of the foods were vegetarian, but all of it was good. End there was a lot of it (and you know that made me a happy man). All my friends can rest assured that even on other continents, I am still a human garbage disposal. As we ate our lunches, we all chatted about our impressions of South Africa and how much we were enjoying ourselves, when suddenly four young men arrived to perform for us. They began to play marimbas and drums, and to sing for us. They were absolutely astounding. One would begin each song on a marimba, and then a second would join with a different rhythm and then a third, and then the drums would add, and then they would begin to sing. I began to smile and move with the music because I couldn’t help myself. It seems to me that it must be impossible to listen to music like that and not be jubilant. The performers looked as though they were having a great time, and I know those of us present were loudly appreciative. They performed for about 30 minutes, and let the students participate some as well. The meal and music was an unexpected and uplifting way to end our visit to the township. As we were about to leave, Sylvia came back out and before we could thank her, she did something that really humbled me, she thanked all of us. She earnestly thanked us for choosing to come to the townships, and for experiencing their lives, she thanked us for taking our experience away and sharing it with others, she thanked us for sharing our lives with her and the other residents. She explained that our visit created work for her and the people who worked with her, and that in turn our business let them go and spend money in other areas of the township, and thus everyone benefits. Now, I am a pretty sentimental guy… I own that. And I have to say that my eyes were misty most of the time I spent in the townships, and for a lot of the time in Lelápa as well. The entire morning was just incredibly overwhelming to the senses, but in such an amazing and wonderful way. On my way out, I bought a beautiful African drum from Sylvia and Lelápa, and while I know I could have bought it cheaper elsewhere, I was glad to have contributed to what they had there.

After leaving the townships, I returned to the ship and then ventured to the big Sunday Green Point Market which is held in the parking lot of one of the rugby stadiums. Sporting venues, and the tourism industry are gearing up for the World Cup which is coming to South Africa in 2010. It will be the first time such a huge world sporting event will take place on the African continent. The parking area was full of stalls with some amazing wares. I walked through and the vendors were pouncing. Any time you paused they would try and sell you something or convince you to take a good look at what they were offering. I quickly became adept at engaging them in friendly conversation, while politely declining their offers. Eventually I found a few items to purchase. Many of the items are similar one stall to the next, but I saw a woman who had tall giraffes that seemed nicer than the rest. I asked a tourist I passed how much she paid for her 3’ wooden giraffe and she was proud to have paid only 120 Rand. So I engaged the nice woman in conversation and we eventually haggled and agreed on a price of 90 Rand for one that was even larger and had a very sweet face on it. The whole time we were smiling and having fun with our banter. Another vendor sold me two figurines of a man and woman. He told me the story of the figures, which he said came from Malawi. I am not 100% sure that his story was true, but it was entertaining, and he really did give me a good price for them (40 Rand). My final purchase of the day was a large batik (painted and waxed cloth) that depicts 7 African women with baskets and jars on their heads. It is full of bright colors and patterns, and was just the most beautiful one I saw my entire day. The woman selling the batiks flirted mercilessly with me when I arrived at the market, and when I returned we had so much fun “arguing” over a price and talking about her items, and my time in Africa. Bartering in South Africa was such a better process than in Brazil. In Brazil, I felt as though I was being cheated or swindled through the process, there was no joy in it. But here in Africa, it was a conversation, a friendly and playful dance that we did. Oftentimes, I bartered with people and we couldn’t agree on a price, but that was OK. We both enjoyed the conversation and moved on. It was so refreshing after Brazil. Also, I finally realized that as long as I know my limit for what I’ll spend on any given item, and don’t allow myself to be bullied (or bully myself) into spending more than that, I walk away happy, even without a sale. In the following days, I would barter for items on behalf of students, and helped them to enjoy the process as well. It’s always more fun to buy and barter with other people’s money. I know I saved the students a lot, and also helped many of them to actually engage the vendors in a real conversation. I think I’m just about ready for some big time shopping in Asia.

After I returned my new purchases to the ship, I caught the 5pm ferry to Robben Island. On the ship I met up with Roberto, our Puerto Rican student on the S@S voyage. He and I enjoyed a VERY rocky wet trip across the bay for about 30 minutes to get to the island. On the island we were loaded into a bus and driven around. The guide told us about the island, which was once a leper colony before it was a prison for black African men. Only black African men were imprisoned on Robben Island. Whites and women were put elsewhere in the country. We saw the rock quarry where Nelson Mandela worked every day for so many years of his imprisonment. We passed the Robert Sobukwe house, where Sobukwe was held apart from the other prisoners after he “incited” the protests that led to the Sharpeville Massacre. We saw the small village on the island that used to house all of the guards and their families. It is still inhabited today, but now the residents are both former guards and former prisoners from Robben Island. They live literally side-by-side working to make sure the memory of the oppression is not forgotten or repeated. We saw a small mosque that was used by the Islamic prisoners on the island, and the small church that was used as well. Eventually we entered the prison itself and were led on a tour by a former inmate. Our guide’s name was Sparks and he was a contemporary of Nelson Mandela, and was also imprisoned for political crimes after he joined the militant wing of the African National Congress as a student. He decribed conditions where many men were put into large rooms without beds or sufficient clothing. He described the official policies that had Asian and “colored” men wearing long sleeves and pants and receiving jackets and shoes, and a sufficient ration of food. Black prisoners were given only short sleeved shirts and shorts, and no shoes. This was all they were allowed to wear, even during the winter when there was no heat provided, nor windows to their cells. The black prisoners were also given about ½ the amount of food that the Asian and colored prisoners were. The guards originally placed the political prisoners in with the general criminal population assuming that the general criminals would make the political prisoners forget their goals, but instead the political prisoners, like Mandela, activated the general criminals and made them accomplices in the political struggle. Eventually they separated out the most political prisoners, like Mandela, and put them in solitary cells. Mandela managed to write a manifest during his time on Robben Island, and hid it each evening behind a large tree in the yard. Eventually he had a colleague sneak a copy of the book out of Robben Island. Afterwards, it was published around the world telling all about the situation in South Africa. Once Mandela became President, he named his friend who snuck the manuscript out of Robben Island the Minister of Transportation b/c he was so adept at moving things around. I thought that anecdote was pretty humorous. Like my visit to the townships, being on Robben Island, such an important place historically, was humbling. On my way back to the ferry Roberto and I had a penguin encounter. There are few animals on Robben Island. Robben is actually the Afrikaans word for seal, and there were a few of them around, but there were penguins everywhere. They were not exactly domesticated, but had seen enough people in their time that you could get pretty close and snap a picture before they disappeared into the bushes. The ferry ride back at 8pm was even bumpier and wet, and pretty frickin’ cold, but still a fun way to travel. Once back on the waterfront, I treated myself to falafel and Greek fast food. Then I headed back to the ship to pack for my safari which left at 4am the next morning. Ugh!

Early in the morning, me and 39 bleary eyed students met in the Union around 4:30am. On my way there I picked up everyone’s passports and then we were off to the airport. We picked up our Tour Operator, Manfred, who traveled with us for the entirety of our trip. Normally, the T.O. handles all the details and logistics of the trip. But Manfred was, in a word, useless. We made our way to the airport and hopped on a British Airways flight from Cape Town to Durban, the second largest city in South Africa. I‘ve never flown British Airways before, but what an awesomely cushy airline. We got full breakfasts and everything. We arrived in Durban and jumped on a tour bus for a city tour. However, almost all of the students promptly fell asleep and all we really saw of the city was a shopping area located near the city Aquarium. We wandered around and wasted 3 hours before we could board the shuttles out to the game reserve. I appreciated being able to relax a bit, and I got my first glimpse, and picture of the Indian Ocean. Durban is an remarkable place. It is a lot more stereotypically African than Cape Town, and also a lot warmer and more humid, since it is about 1,000 miles NNE of CT. The predominate cultural group of that area was English (as opposed to Dutch) and Zulu. Our safari was supposed to concentrate on the Zulu culture, but that aspect wasn’t actually present. Around noon we jumped into three minivans for the 3 hour drive North of Durban to the Hluhluwe-Umfolozi Game Reserve (Hluhluwe is pronounced shloo-shloo-wee). The area around and North of Durban is called KwaZulu Natal. When it was “discovered” in the 16th century by European colonialists, they found it close to Christmas, and a friend of the main explorer had the name Natale, thus they named the South African state Natal, and the name still remains today. However, with the end of Apartheid, the Zulu nation began to assert more influence on the politics of S.A. and more specifically in the Natal region. It is only within the last decade that the area has again been called KwaZulu which literally translates to Zulu land. I was a little sad to hear that for so long the legitimate name of the area was hidden. I thought of it only as KwaZulu. The landscape of KwaZulu and the African veldt, or savannah was not a lush tropical jungle, nor a dry deserty area like the Serengeti. It actually seemed pretty similar to some of the Californian landscape when you move away from the coast, just with wild African animals roaming about dining on one another. As we arrived at the game reserve, we drove through the gates and immediately saw a pack of impala. I was so excited. We spent our three days overlooking a river at the Sontuli Tented Educational Camp in the deepest sections of the Umfolozi part of the reserve. Sontuli is the Zulu word for Lion, and supposedly there was a 16 lion pride that lived right around our camp. I dreamed of evenings in my rustic tent listening to lions roaring. But, that didn’t end up being the reality.

We arrived at the camp and met our guide/host Kopus (pronounced Kwe-bus). He was a white Afrikaaner around 40 years of age. He had an asst. named Adele, also white, and then a staff of people who worked for him, all Zulus who grew up near the area. Zomora was his main guide and provided a lot of context for the trip, and info on traditional Zulu culture later in our safari. We also met a host of other men who made the camp run, and Mama Chef who cooked our meals while at Sontuli. On our way into the reserve we passed herds of impala, warthogs (which really do look like Pumbaa from Disney’s The Lion King), African buffalo, herds of zebra, and even saw a black rhino and a giraffe way in the distance. It was incredibly cool. Once we got to camp, Kopus let us know that we were indeed in the middle of a reserve, and that we needed to keep our wits about us at all times. He pointed out that our camp had no fences, and that we needed to keep a light on and stay with a buddy whenever possible. As if to prove his point, a large female hyena walked through our camp and right past our camp fire as he was speaking. Luckily we were all gathered on the eating terrace getting the camp rules. It was already dark at this point, so we could only barely make out the form of the hyena until Zomora projected a spotlight onto her and she scurried away. Later that evening, a huge red moon rose over the hills in the distance, and seemed to be a good omen for us all. The camp was described to us as being rustic, and rustic it surely was. There were no frills at this site. The students were put in 5 large 8 person tents that had bunked beds in each. I on the other hand was labeled the “teacher” since I was the trip leader and the only non-student adult. Thus I, and Manfred, were each given our own large elevated A-frame huts with huge thatched roofs. They were so neat, and had two sets of beds in each. I didn’t even have to share, and had an awesome view of horizon from my balcony. We had a small camp fire that evening and everyone tucked in pretty early since we had an early wake up call for our first game drive.

5:30am came way too early. We woke to a quick breakfast of coffee/cocoa and biscuits before loading the minivans for our morning game drive. Before we left Kopus scolded us for a good 20 minutes. Evidently one of them men using the student restrooms left a tap running all night long, and as a result the camp was without water, which meant no showers, and the toilets would not flush. This evidently was a big problem, and Kopus made sure to tell us that his staff would have to spend all morning pumping water from the river instead of on their other duties. I have to admit, I wasn’t happy for the wasted water, but I also didn’t appreciate being scolded as if I was a five-year old. Eventually, we got in the minivans and drove into the reserve. A few of the students were upset, and rightfully so, that we were not in open 4x4’s as our trip description had dictated. However, the minivan drive turned out to be pretty good as well. As we drove in the early morning light the savannah came alive and we saw many of the animals I mentioned, but closer and in larger numbers. We saw a lot of impala, which really are elegant animals, and zebras, which looked extremely cool walking through the savannah. There were more buffalo, and huge vultures ready to pick apart leftover prey. We saw blue wildebeests which are strange lumbering animals that seem awkward and oafish. The entire morning we hoped to see elephants or lions. We willed them into existence, and pleaded for them to charge out of the bushes… but to no avail. Later we came back to camp and had a hearty breakfast before a quick nap. Early in the afternoon we did a walk down the river and saw some buffalo in the distance. Zomora led the group brandishing a rifle in case any large dangerous animals decided to investigate our group. We found an area that resembled Pride Rock from the Lion King and sat for a spell while Kopus and Zomora regaled us with stories of the bush, and about animal tracking and animal behavior in the wild. Kopus taught us some fascinating things about how animals have evolved to man, and even to tourists in the reserves. Cheetah will use tourist jeeps as a hunting blind when chasing their prey, and leopards drive game onto slippery paved roads to cause them to fall. We learned about elephant families and how they teach their young what it means to be an adult elephant. Zomora told us more about the Zulu tribe and Shaka, the most famous king of the Zulu. Zomora told us about the current king who wields a fair amount of power himself. It seems that the man has 28 wives, and takes a new one each year. He also rules over all KwaZulu and meets regularly with the Governor of Natal in order to partner around how South African laws can work to benefit the people of the area. The Zulu king is the only member of the tribe who is allowed to wear leopard skin. Also no women may look directly at the king, not even his wives. The reign is passed from father to son, but not necessarily to the first son. The Sangoma (witch doctor) for the king is considered a wise counselor, and he will decide for the king which son is the most worthy to lead. Pretty interesting stuff.

Once we returned to camp, a friend of Kopus, named Zama, came to talk with us about wild dogs. These are truly wild and ferocious dogs that are predators in the reserve. Mind you, these dogs are nothing like Fido and Rover at home. They are bloodthirsty killing predators. However, they are also endangered. Zama’s work in animal preservation was very interesting, and he even let the students play with the radio tracking instruments and learn a little experientially. Once Zama left, I took a much needed nap. I could feel the students getting on my nerves, and I was getting grouchy, so I knew I was in dire need of sleep. I was glad to get the chance to catch some midday Zzz’s. By the time I woke up there was water and a few of us, me included, took much needed showers. In the evening, 4x4 jeeps arrived and we loaded in at dusk for our evening game drive. Our driver was a Zulu bushman named Tom who was very stern. He drove us into the reserve and we prayed we’d see the big 5 (lion, leopard, elephant, buffalo, and rhino). Pretty quickly we saw some a crocodile in the water of the river far away. We also saw zebra and impala, and a buffalo, but saw very little else as we drove along. We went long stretches of time without seeing anything but a few rare birds that didn’t impress us much. The one animal we saw constantly were herds of impala. It got to the point where we were calling them herds of ‘bait’ and willing a lion or leopard to come along and eat them! But, no such luck. Kopus was in my jeep and he told us that impalas have a nickname. They are also referred to as Nafi’s, or NAFIs which stands for “Not Another F*cking Impala” because they are just SO prevalent. We were able to see some of the big buffalo and wildebeests up close, but really didn’t encounter much else. One of the guides had a good eye and spotted an African python off to the side of the road. Duncan, the guide, stopped his jeep, jumped out and grabbed it up and brought it over to the jeep for everyone to touch. The thing must have been 6 feet long. It even managed to take a quick nip out of Duncan’s neck before he let it go (no worries, no damage was done). Just before we started to head back to camp, we stopped near a watering hole and saw five female hyena lurking in the distance. They are really sulky looking creatures with manic spots on their backs, hunched bodies, and blackened faces. We all agreed that they indeed looked like the Disney versions of hyena from the Lion King. We drove about 20 feet from the watering hole when we encountered two of the hyena from the group. They had closed in on us and began to circle the jeep and snarl a bit. The jeeps are very high off the ground, but it was unnerving to have an animal that could easily rip me to shreds two feet from me, and only barely out of reach. They did not like us in their area, especially once they realized we were not going to be an easy meal. Eventually they moved on, and we got back to camp. In talking to the other groups, no one really got to see any lion or elephants, though one group came upon a huge rhino a little ways outside of out camp. We all gorged on game stew and grainy/potatoy cakes called Pap and then roasted marshmallows over our huge campfire. Most of the evening was spent playing games around the fire, like Psychiatrist and Mafia, and telling ghost stories. A few smaller groups started some raucous games of “I Never” and Truth or Dare. I avoided those groups, but Kopus and Adele joined one, and I was embarrassed for them all. Kopus was an odd fellow. We learned that South African humor does not translate well to Americans. He would tell jokes, or make comments that he obviously thought were funny, and it was like you could hear crickets b/c none of us got it. This happened constantly. He also used some pretty inappropriate humor. He made remarks about Mexicans being lazy and trying to cross the border into America as a means to poke fun at two Mexican students who are on the voyage. They are both fun guys and laughed with him and did not take it personally. We also had a student with us named Senkei. She is a Taiwanese student who grew up in Japan. He could not pronounce her name so he called her Sushi for the whole safari. He also poked fun at her saying Chinese people would eat anything on four legs except a table. I know many of us were floored he would voice such a comment. Senkei was not pleased and made it clear, more than once, that she was not Chinese, but Taiwanese, and Japanese. Kopus also made references about women being inferior to men. Adele responded with jokes about men, but I would have preferred that none of the comments were made at all. It was interesting walking the line between wanting to say something to Kopus about how inappropriate his comments were, and accepting the fact that he was not an American, and not a member of our S@S community. I was also acutely aware that we were in a dangerous place, and he was essentially our lifeline. Not someone you want to piss off. In the end, I was proud that many of our students found their own voices in challenging his comments as they happened. I talked with them individually about how they felt, and tried to support them in the moment.

The next morning, we awoke at 5:00am on our last day in the savannah and loaded all of our gear back into the minivans. We said our goodbyes and took a group photo. Then we hopped in for our final drive slowly out of the reserve. We encountered herds of Nafi’s and loads of zebra, and then we got lucky. We had giraffe in our path. We saw a number of them as we made the drive through the reserve. They really are elegant creatures. I was glad to see them up close. As we got close to the gates of the reserve, we got another treat. There were three very large, and very sedate black rhino sunning themselves in a large meadow right next to the road. The minivans all stopped and we got the chance to snap a few more pictures. My minivan was the last to leave the gates of the reserve, and just beyond the gate we encountered 3 more giraffe by the side of the road. We stopped and watched as two of them flirted and musked one another. Musking is when the animals rub their necks against each other in an attempt to seduce and pass along their scent. It must have been effective, because soon enough, we were witnessing “giraffe porn” (as one of the students called it). In order to provide them with a little privacy, we drove on to Durban.

In Durban we wasted a bit of time, and I bought a couple of CDs of traditional and contemporary South Africa music. Then it was another cushy British Airways flight, and a short bus trip back to the ship. After cleaning the savannah off of me, I met up with a few RDs and we went off in search of some authentic African cuisine. We tried to get a reservation at Mama Africa’s and the African Café, two well know African restaurants, but both were booked. We ended up at Marco’s African Place. I dined on Crocodile and Warthog. (sidebar: Crocodile is not yummy, at all. It’s got a strange texture, an odd flavor, and lots of fatty deposits in the meat. I really wish I had ordered more kudu instead. Boo!). One of my colleagues, Matt, ordered a “Smiley” for his appetizer. The Smiley turned out to be a sheep’s head. It looked absolutely ghastly. You could see the teeth and the tongue sticking out of its mouth, and it still very much resembled the original animal, just dried out and cooked. Matt opened the eye, and popped out the eyeball and ate it. I swear everyone thought he was going to vomit on the spot, but he was a real trooper. And I thought I was adventurous! After dinner, everyone went out to catch some African jazz, but I headed back to the ship for my night on-call. I was worried it would be a sleepless night dealing with drunken students. The previous few nights had been full of issues, and Beth prepared me for the worst. However, the fates were with me, and I didn’t receive a single call. Yipee!

My final day in South Africa began with mail delivery. I received all sorts of wonderful notes from my folks and sisters, and an awesome postcard and note from my friends & colleagues Leigh (and Darin) and Yas. Thanks, friends! They provided some info of life at home and some useful Cape Town tips. My favorite package was a whole slew of notes, drawings and kind wishes from all my friends back in Mesa Court. I was so glad to get notes, and some of them really made me laugh. A quick shout-out to Cherine who’s simple note “buy me things –Cherine” had me actually laughing out loud. Thanks to you all!

After reading my mail over breakfast, I met up with RDs Matt and Dan for our trip up Table Mountain. The mountain looms 1088 meters or 3,627 feet over Cape Town Harbor. It was a beacon of hope for Nelson Mandela and the other prisoners on Robben Island, but also provides the best vistas of the city and surrounding area. Most people take the huge funiculars on the cableway that shoots almost straight of the side of the mountain. It really is a monolith that has sheer rock faces, a true sight to behold. We three decided to hike up the mountain (I was such a naïve idiot to attempt this). None of the trails up Table Mountain are easy, but we at least took the most straightforward route up the Platteklip Gorge. They tell people that unless extremely fit, you should first attempt to walk down rather than up. The guide books estimate that it should take about 2 ½ hours to climb down. But, no. I had hubris on my side, as did my companions. We left at 10am, as the sun was it strongest, and began our hike. Matt, being the young whippersnapper that he is led off and set a very fast pace. It became apparent to me pretty quickly that the trail really was almost straight up. It was actually less of a trail and more of a huge looming staircase, where each step was a huge boulder at a sharp incline. Quickly Matt tired out, and slowed a bit. After about 40 minutes, we had climbed ¼ of the way up, and I was really feeling it. I was glad I wore sunscreen and had water with me but I was breathing hard and started to regret my decision to climb. Dan, being wiry and athletic set a nice steady pace and was out of sight in no time. After about an hour or so, I hit a wall. I began to feel sick, knew I was beginning to feel heat stroke, and couldn’t get my heart rate to slow down. By this point, I was about halfway up the mountain. If I could have called a cab I would have done so in a NY minute. I had visions of needing to be airlifted off the mountain because I was seriously not sure I was going to make it up. I let go of all my pride and was just filled with fear. I could feel my heartbeat in my neck hear it pounding in my ears and all I could think about was my Dad and his recent heart troubles I was worried I might keel over right there. Matt was great, and hung back with me, and played it off as if he was in need of rest. Since I was stuck needing to go either up or down, I dug into my reserves of energy and decided to head up, but I also knew I needed to give myself as much time as I needed to make it up the mountain. I’d climb for about 5 minutes or so, and then I’d stop and find a bit of shade and rest of five minutes (sometimes longer). I was able to appreciate the views a bit more, and slowing down let me slow my heart rate down a bunch as well. I also got the chance to meet other climbers. I met a fun couple of Indian gals from London who were agonizing over the climb as much as me. I met a couple of young guys from Australia who also were taking it very slow and didn’t know what they got themselves into. So, in the end I felt better for being in good company. It didn’t even bother me when I was passed by a few 50-60 year old ladies, and an older S@S professor who seemed unfazed by the climb. (Ok, so I was a little peeved, but I was more focused on survival at that point). I was sad to discover that the climb actually got to be more difficult as we got higher and higher up the mountain and into the gorge itself. We met many S@S students along the trail, most of whom had already climbed up and were headed back down. Their encouragement was much appreciated as I climbed. After a little over 2 hours, I popped out of the gorge onto the top of the Table. It was a bit anticlimactic, because the trail just suddenly ends along a paved path, and you’re surrounded by people who took the cable car up to the top. They couldn’t seem to understand why I looked so disheveled and pale. Matt had arrived at the top about 10 minutes before me, and Dan evidently made it up about 30 minutes earlier. We all wandered around up top and appreciated the amazing views all around Cape Town and for hundreds of miles. I was reminded of the view from the top of Corcovado Mountain in Rio because I felt like I could see everything from up there. I quickly made my way to the restaurant and café area where I drank down two bottles of water, had a ham & cheese sandwich, and relaxed in the shade for a bit. While the hike felt like torture, I rallied back pretty darn quick and was able to enjoy myself up top. I met up with our Librarian Erin (a fellow Wahoo) and one of our professors, Robin O’Bryan, and we swapped stories about Cape Town and S@S before I found met back up with Dan & Matt for our trip back down the mountain. We had discussed rappelling down the side of Table Mountain. It is the longest commercial rappel in the world, and would have made a great end to my time in Cape Town, but it was bit more expensive than we thought. Plus, once you rappelled down, you had to hike back up the mountain to get the cable car back. There was no way on God’s green Earth I would consider that again. So we paid the fee and rode the cablecar down. It was worth every single one of those 60 Rand. As I rode down the cable car, I mentally reconsidered my plans to climb Mt. Fuji in Japan, or to run a marathon, or do an Iron Man. Some goals are just better left to others.

After the my near-death experience on Table Mountain (ok, so maybe I’m being a little dramatic), I jumped in a cab with a couple students and went back to Greenmarket Square. I had a few more purchases I wanted to make. I was able to quickly find a mahogany rhino, and a couple of masks. I really wanted to find a couple of authentic African masks for my walls at home. I looked around and talked to the different vendors and eventually decided on two South African passport masks. These masks were used when members of one tribe wanted to cross the territory of another tribe. They would need to carry and wear the passport mask in order to have safe passage through that territory. They are beautiful masks and very imposing. The vendor and I really haggled over the price for a while. I ended up paying a little more than I wanted, but I could tell he was also not pleased at how cheap he was selling them to me. In the end, I got both of the masks for 270 Rand (about $39). With all my purchases complete, and almost all my Rand spent, the students and I hopped in one of the Cape Town minibus taxicabs. These little minivan taxis stop at spots around the city and take up to 15 passengers and drop them off wherever is needed. It only cost us 4 Rand each, much better than the 50 Rand cab fare we would have split for the same ride. I ran into the mall at the waterfront, and quickly bought myself a green t-shirt for the Sea Olympics (the Aegean Sea color is green) and grabbed a quick dinner of pizza and chips. Next I sat and wrote out 30 postcards lickety-split and threw them in the mail before running back to the ship to welcome back our students at on-ship time. Most of our students made it back right on time. We had a few drunk students stumble up to the ship and a few students who threw some attitude at us. But for the most part, things went pretty smoothly, and we eventually got a good system in place. It is always more difficult to get folks back on board when the gangway is on Deck 5 b/c the stairs are very narrow, and can’t handle too many people at once. Once on-ship time arrived at 2030 (8:30pm) we were only missing about 10 students, and they all ambled up within the next 15 minutes.

As a final farewell treat, the Khayelitsha Township Choir came on board to give us a concert in the Student Union. We had a packed house, and these singers amazed everyone present. Their music was spectacular. Their songs had simple lyrics, but layered with melodies and singing parts, and evoked such emotion. The singers also danced as a group as they sang and expressed so much through their singing. The best part was that they were really committed to their music and looked like they really enjoyed performing. We learned that the group of about 30 singers are all students from the township. They practice in the evenings and compete with other community-based music groups. Last year, they placed second in the most prestigious competition in the area. They are hoping to win it all this year, and I sincerely hope they do too. Listening to them sing, I had a huge smile on my face the entire time. In the end, we all stood as they sang the South African national anthem with its multi-lingual lyrics. Again, I admit that my eyes were wet thinking back over my trip and listening to the moving music of the township choir. This will be one tough port to beat. The choir sang their way off the ship and we pulled up the gangway. I’m glad my camera was able to catch a bit of their singing as they exited so I can remember them. It was the most fitting and beautiful farewell I could have imagined. RD Mindy and I walked out on 7th deck and looked over Cape Town and mused about how far we’ve come already, and how many more wonderful places we will be visiting in the coming weeks. I went to bed a very tired, and very happy man.

Sorry for the long long long blog entry. But with a country as culturally rich as South Africa, it was destined to be a long entry. If you stuck with me, thank you. I wish love to everyone back home.
XOXO

–Drew

King Neptune, Apartheid Day, and so much more!

2007-02-28T16:39:00.000-08:00

Now I can fill you in on this past week at sea. There never seems to be a free moment to sit down, collect my thoughts and then type them up in any coherent way. But lucky for me, the big guy upstairs decided to intercede on my behalf and provide me with the time. You see, I did a stupid thing during my last meal in Cape Town. I sat down for dinner, popped a couple of Pepto, and then ordered a Coke. It was served with a glass of ice. I poured my Coke over the ice and took a couple of sips before I realized what I was doing. Drinking the water in Salvador is a very bad idea, and that includes the ice. I poured my Coke into an empty glass and hoped that there would be no ill effect, but I was wrong. Two days later, Dr. Matt proudly informed the ship that for the first time ever, S@S left Brazil without any reportable cases of diarrhea from the Amazon. He extolled the virtues of Pepto Bismol and we were all proud of ourselves. By that point I was already having some tummy rumbling, and was already suffering a bit of Montezuma’s Revenge, but I chalked it up to the lack of fiber in our ship diets. But two more days passed, and I developed flu-like symptoms, and though I tried to push through and be a productive little RD, I knew something was amiss. I stopped into the Medical Clinic to chat with my friends who work there and just ask what I should take for the poopie problem. They suggested I actually start a course of Cipro and continue with Tylenol for the flu stuff. 10 minutes later, Emily, the nurse, found me in Purser’s Square to deliver the news that the two doctor’s on board had discussed it, and decided I needed to be quarantined. I went back down to the Med Clinic to fill out paperwork to send off to the CDC and officially became the first CDC reportable case of persistent diarrhea for the Spring 07 trip. So as a result, I have been shut in my cabin for the last 22 ½ hours, ad will likely be here at least 8 or so more. Now if I was at home, this would be OK. But on the ship, it drives one crazy. There are only 2 real TV channels, and they only run in the evenings. I can quote every line from The Constant Gardener and Harry Potter: Prizoner of Azkaban having now seen them no less than 4 times each (I’m not exaggerating). Also, they deliver meals to my cabin b/c I can’t leave. However, they deliver normal sized portions of food and I’m a big guy who needs more, especially since most of the food is passing through me pretty quick (catch my drift?). The other downer is that it cost me the first lecture by Archbishop Desmond Tutu this morning. I was going to sneak out and watch from the back of the classroom, but they take this quarantine stuff seriously. He’s lecturing tomorrow as well, so I am praying they let me out by then. But… at least it’s letting me catch up on my electronic correspondence, and my sleep. See, there’s always a silver lining if you look hard enough. So far, my journey seems to be full of fecal-focused stories. Sorry for any readers who are offended, but hey…. Shit happens (and in my case, all too often!).
So let’s back up and relate some of the fun shipboard happenings as of late. In the 8 days we are at sea between Brazil and South Africa we have lost 5 hours. There was a stretch for 3 days in a row where we lost an hour every day. It’s strange how one little hour can throw things off, but when that is compounded day after day and over a week it can be brutal. I am sure it didn’t help my health issues any. Ugh (again!). Quickly after we got back on board from Salvador, talk moved to Neptune Day. Committees formed, and veiled threats were issued from “The Voice” about how we had angered Mighty King Neptune since we did not pause when passing the Equator to pay homage and proper respect. He would be exacting his revenge on Neptune Day. Knowing that shaving heads was a part of the celebration I allowed my head to be raffled off so that some lucky student could shave it as part of the day’s activities. I was a self-proclaimed “hair whore” and begged/pleaded/demanded students buy raffle tickets to cut my hair and did pretty good at raising money for our Students of Service. I think there were about 30 tickets in my bag by the end. One of the guys upstairs, Perry, was the big winner. He was upset about his own haircut, and took his frustrations out on my head. I’ll try to upload a picture of my new S@S haircut and my barber.

You’ll note I am covered with hair in the picture. I now remember why I decided to grow out my hair. Ugh, what a strangely shaped head. Neptune Day was a lot of fun. But before I can get to it, I have to start two nights prior. One of our female students, Zeona, organized an event called “Rock the Hawk” in anticipation of Neptune Day. The idea is that women who had long hair could cut it and donate it to Locks of Love, a charity that takes hair donations and creates wigs for children with Cancer. I am familiar with the charity since the Mesa Court Council works with them back at UCI. Well, this small event became HUGE. Almost 30 women cut their hair to donate, and then shaved Mohawks. And in a display of solidarity, many of the men did as well. One of our lifelong learners had the students shave her a Mohawk as well, and it was one of the biggest moments of the night. Everyone was chanting Donna’s name, and spiking her Mohawk and taking pictures with her. For the night Grandma Mohawk was the coolest 78 year old around. We actually had students asking if we could suspend the alcohol service, or even cancel it in order to extend the event since it was being held on the Pool Deck. I was beaming on the inside at the big success. RD Lesley deserved a lot of credit for making the event happen. So for one day there were about 60 or so Mohawks walking around the ship.
On the morning of Neptune Day, the crew paraded through all of the decks at 7am dressed in Grecian robes with painted faces and shields. They drummed on pots and pans, and banged on doors to rouse the students from the slumber. The parade wandered around the ship for a good 45 minutes. They must have hit every hallway and deck 3 times. I was anticipating the parade and was able to snap a few pictures as they passed my door. Then I followed them around the ship for awhile, along with a few others. Many of the students who hadn’t been expecting it, answered their doors with the most quizzical looks on their faces. I wish I had snapped some pictures of them as well. A little while later “The Voice” told us all to meet out by the pool for the Neptune festivities. We gathered around the pool and awaited the arrival of the royal court. I’d say about 1/3 of the shipboard community was present, and another 1/3 wandered out to the deck during the show. The crew paraded in and were followed by King Neptune, Queen Minerva, and their court. King Neptune was played by our esteemed Captain Jeremy. He was wearing what looked like a grass skirt, a wig of braided rope and some kind of headdress. That’s all he had on. Every other part of him was covered with green body paint (face and all). Now, mind you… Captain Jeremy is a big man, both tall and portly, so he was both imposing and humorous. He looked to me like The Hulk’s befuddled English uncle. Does that make sense? However, when he spoke, his British accent made it all work, and he seemed regal despite the green body paint. Queen Minerva was played superbly by our Executive Dean Larry. He was in a similar wig, and Grecian gown with ample bosom. Our Academic Dean Mike played Master of Ceremonies and had us all recite our oath to the sea. King Neptune made some threats and then decided we needed to prove our worth before he would allow us to continue sailing into his southern realm. One by one we walked into pool area where the crew poured a filthy briny brew over our heads. I am not sure what was in the milky white substance, but it smelled like turned milk & fish guts and it stunk to high heaven (and so did we after getting it on us). After getting the gunk on the head you were “baptized” by jumping into the pool. Then each pollywog had to walk out of the pool and kiss two fish on the lips. These were huge yellowtail fish with big toothy mouths. I did my duty and gave them each a smootch. Then you had to kneel and pay your respects to King Neptune and kiss his ring. If he you counted you worthy, then you were allowed to be “knighted” and thus evolved from a scurrilous pollywog to a mighty shellback. Now, King Neptune is a finicky God. Not everyone who kissed his ring was deemed worthy. He regularly would throw people back into the pool if they did not sufficiently prostrate themselves, or did a poor job fish-kissing. Thankfully, I needed but one attempt. Hundreds and hundreds of people went through the initiation ceremony that day. It was so much fun. After the ceremony, the shaving of heads took place. That’s when Perry stole my curly locks from me. But I was able to grab some scissors and shears and exacted my own revenge on many a willing head. I don’t know what the end count was on shaven heads, but I think we set a new record between the Neptune Day shaves and the Rock the Hawk shaves. A lot of the Mohawks were shorn off, but many of the women (and men) decided they liked the Mohawk look and kept them rather thank losing it all. There are a few pictures of all the “baldies” but I think it only shows about 2/3 of the people who actually got Neptune haircuts. I think about 10-15 more people donated their hair for Locks of Love on Neptune Day. I know that many of the donations were not long enough to use for wigs, but the charity can sell the hair and use the money for their cause as well. Either way, our students helped out which is what really matters. Neptune Day ended with a big outdoor BBQ by the pool on 7th deck. It’s fun to see the whole community come together and realize how quickly everyone seems to have bonded.

My other big pet project for this part of our voyage was a shipboard Apartheid Day Simulation. All the pieces came together in a great way. I initially proposed the idea to our Diversity Programming Committee and to Beth, the DSL and the Executive & Academic Deans. They all liked the idea, and once it got the blessing, I put it into action. I worked with Dan Christie, the Global Studies Professor, to make sure that the GS curriculum discussed Apartheid before the simulation and then yesterday, immediately following Global Studies, I got to be “The Voice” for a brief moment and explain the rules to the shipboard community. All the Baldies & Mohawk folks became the privileged class and were able to use the entire ship as they saw fit. Everyone who still had hair became the Non-privileged class. They were restricted from using the pool deck & bistro, the Garden Lounge Dining Room (which is the more popular dining room), all elevators, and all public restrooms. They were also expected to give up their computer in the lab or gym equipment if one of the privileged class came around and wanted their space. What’s more, the hairy folks were not allowed to sun by the pool, get the 10 o’clock snack, or attend the AFTer Hours beverage Service. There were monitors from the Diversity Programming Committee who made sure people understood the rules, and they were stationed around the ship to do so. Signs were posted all over the ship indicating “Shaved Heads Have Priority.” Immediately following the announcement, there was an uproar! I loved it, and so did many of the administrators and folks around the ship. There were silent protests, and one professor and a few students even organized a sit in outside the reserved dining room. They created protest banners and chanted and sang protest songs. I stopped by to see their protest and they began chanting “Down with Drew.” I let them know I loved their protest, and reminded them that I did not invent the concept of Apartheid (which garnered some laughs). I also reminded them that had they actually been protesting Apartheid in South Africa decades ago, their protest would have ended in their arrest and likely in bloodshed. The simulation was off to a great start. The monitors were furious. They felt like people weren’t taking the simulation seriously, and that the protestors were changing the whole scenario. They wanted to add rules and throw up more barriers for the non-privilege class. It was so fascinating to see how quickly their attitudes shifted from monitoring and observing the event to becoming the police/enforcers/”the Man” (these are the names they gave themselves). Dr. Matt (the ship’s doctor) and a couple students decided, almost immediately, that the Faculty/Staff Lounge should be a part of the simulation as well. Dr. Matt went to Dean Larry & Mike and they agreed, so signs were posted and the bald students moved themselves into the 7th deck. This infuriated some of the faculty. Two of them cornered me and yelled at me for a full 5 minutes (in front of some students) about how this was an awful idea and that the whole simulation would rip apart the community. They went on to say that Faculty needed their lounge in order to communicate with one another and grade papers. Just where were they expected to do their work now that there were students in their lounge? I have to admit, I wasn’t quite prepared for their anger. I later learned that another professor (who I generally think is pretty nice) stormed into the lounge about an hour later and tore down all the signs and rudely kicked the students out of the lounge. I guess some of the faculty felt that this simulation was not a lesson they needed to learn. There were some awesome exceptions though. Toni Zimmerman, a faculty member I adore, worked it into her lesson plans. Her husband shaved his head, so she and her young daughters spent the entire day apart from him and she had some great conversations with them about Apartheid. So many folks were so supportive of the whole thing. And then… right in the middle of it all…. I was quarantined. Yes, the timing could not have been worse. I had to leave the simulation I created, the mess I made, and drop it into the laps of my colleagues and peers b/c I had the runs. I’ve heard some reports that the rest of the simulation went really well, and Beth stopped by a little while ago to say that the Student Life Team and the Executive Team all had great conversations today about how well it had gone. I just feel so bad that I started the ball rolling and then was sidelined. Boo! I’m still licking my wounds. This morning, just as global studies was ending, Ron (“The Voice”) came over the intercom announcing the end of the Apartheid Day Simulation. All I want to do is get out of my cabin and find out just what was ending. I’m hopeful I’ll be released tonight in time to facilitate the debrief/open mic where people can come and share their feeling about the whole experience.

Other Diversity & Spiritual Happenings… The Jew Crew had a great seder dinner. They all dressed up and had a nice evening with one another. They’ll be repeating it every Friday at sea, and I’ve made sure that they will have a loaf of challah to break from now on. We’ve also made some good headway on our big Passover celebration. Sadly, Passover falls during the time we are in port. Normally, this would be a good thing, b/c it would allow our observant students the chance to find a local synagogue to celebrate, but we will be in Malaysia which is a 100% Islamic nation. We have heard that there is a sizable ex-pat community in Panang, so we’re hoping that the student’s rabbis back at home can make some connections so the students can observe in port. Once we leave Penang, we will be holding a Passover seder on the ship for anyone who would like to celebrate and learn more about the Jewish holiday. I’ve been working with the hotel staff on the ship and they seem to be willing to move heaven and earth to make things possible for our students. I really appreciate that about them. We’re also going to try and have a Purim Dance on the ship as well. Purim will officially be next week while we’re in Cape Town, but it will make for a fun night on the ship where everyone can go in costume and live out a personality totally opposite of who they are. I think people will get a real kick out of it.

Our Christian students have developed some terrific Bible Study small groups. I’ve walked past them a few times and paused to hear some great conversations taking place. This past Sunday was our first Non-Denominational Christian Worship Service. A group of our women students put it together, and I am so proud of what they accomplished. It was full of music, with lyrics on powerpoint for everyone to sing along. They made sure that the service was truly inclusive and non-denominational so that all would feel welcome. I think it ended up being something foreign for everyone present, but it seemed to be very well received. I’m excited to see how it evolves in the coming weeks. Plans are still in the works for our Easter service. I’m still hopeful that the Archbishop will offer to conduct a service for our shipboard community. We’ll see. He continues to hold his Sunday morning Eucharist services, and I’ve been tapped to find folks to attend. The students I invite are always SO grateful. It’s like I have presented a great gift to them. How lucky am I to be able to bestow such a present. Huh? Now finding faculty to attend is not so easy. This past week, I was turned down by 3 different faculty members for the service. They were very polite in declining (mostly) and had good reasons for doing so, but I was still surprised. Ah well, such is life.

The People of Color are becoming a strong and cohesive group and being very proactive at addressing their concerns in the community. They are also a group full of fun personalities. I really enjoy them individually and collectively. Interestingly, there is still not a single Asian student in their midst. I know that research says that many Asian students do not choose to identify in that way, but I figured that at least 1 of the 33 on board would have done so. But as I type this and reflect, there are a couple of students who are involved who are biracial and/or Indian. That’s a good reminder that I need to keep my own misconceptions in check. Our LGBTA/Gay-Straight Alliance is also doing well. They are big on ideas and energy. I’m hoping that Ryan and Aya (the student leaders) will be able to translate that into action. They had their third meeting last night while I was in quarantine. I sincerely hope they finally decided on a name b/c the brainstorming went on forever. As I say that it sounds like this frustrated me, but nothing could be farther from the truth. I love their energy. I wouldn’t want to stifle that creativity one iota. Our women’s group has now dubbed themselves the WAVES. It’s an acronym that I can’t remember. I know the W is for Women, the A for Achieving, and the V is for Victory. I don’t want to foul it up and guess the rest. They are doing really well also thanks to leaders RD Melanie, and Emily, RD Tom’s partner. The Diversity Programming Committee is starting to plan some great programs as well. There are programs on Food Waste, and understanding that English isn’t predominant in the world, and a program on the plight of women in many of the nations we will visit. There are also programs like a day of silence for oppressed people, a hunger banquet, and one highlighting the positive impact of the rainbow culture in Mauritius where many cultures have blended peacefully. The next program they’ll be doing is on the Middle Passage, or the route that slave traders used to bring enslaved Africans to the new world. The students are going to do a dock side ceremony to honor the lives lost. I’m impressed by the reverence with which they are approaching the topic.

Finally, today the student life staff had our bridge tour. It’s literally on the other side of the wall from the Student Life Office, but behind locked doors, so you’d almost never know it was there. It was really cool to see the front of the ship from the Captain’s seat. He came up and chatted with us a bit. It seems that he doesn’t actually spend much time on the bridge. His officers are the ones who do most of the real engineering work. The instrumentation panels looked so complicated, but it was interesting to see that there is always an officer on the bridge just scanning the horizon with a pair of binoculars in case something pops up. (I’m not 100% sure they weren’t pulling our leg about that, but there was an offer doing it while we were there). The ship was Built in 1999 in Germany and commissioned in 2000 to a Greek company. It was originally called the Olympia Explorer and has a sister ship named the Olympia Voyager. There are plaques of St. Nicholas on the walls of the bridge and throughout the ship. St. Nick is the patron saint of sailors and the seas in the Greek Orthodox church. Even though the ship is now registered in Nassau, they leave the plaques so as not to invite any negative karma. Cool stuff, huh?

Well, that brings my blog up to date. (I think). There’s always stuff going on, so I know I am leaving out a ton. But now I am going to turn my attention to Africa. Tonight is the Cultural Pre-port (assuming I am out of quarantine), and a trip leader meeting for my safari. I can’t believe in another day I will be on the African continent. I never expected to do an African safari, and sure enough I am less than a week away. Sheesh, I say. Sheesh!

I’ll take tons of pictures so you all can suffer through them with me later. Much love to all at home. XOXO –me.

Tchau Brazil!!!

2007-02-27T20:02:00.000-08:00

Here we are, sailing the ocean blue. Today, as I sat in my Student Life Meeting enjoying the fact that I am no longer sea sick, but agonizing over my newly acquired head cold, I looked out over the water to the horizon. The water out here is really beautiful. It’s an amazing shade of blue. It looks like blue tempera paint. You know, the kind you used back in Kindergarten when you fingerpainted with paints that were so bright and rich that they never really existed in nature. Remember? That’s what the ocean looks like out here. We are about 300 miles out of South America and we saw a small patch of land called “I. Martin Vaz.” It looked like a strange outcrop of rocks rising out of the water in the middle of nowhere. It was desolate and devoid of any signs of life. But it’s the only land we’re going to be seeing for awhile. It’s our second day back on the ship since leaving Brazil and I am still processing my time there. We had our Cultural and Logistal Pre-port briefings in anticipation of our time in Brazil, and I learned a great deal about this huge mysterious country. Specifically, I learned all about the area of Salvador de Bahia. Salvador is in the northern part of Brazil, and the metro area is the 3rd largest in Brazil. It is the heart of Afro-Brazilian culture. Brazil has major issues and racial tensions in their population. This played out in many different ways during the trip. We learned that, much like in the US, people are treated better when they have lighter skin. Additionally, there is more wealth associated with the lighter-skinned parts of the country. Many Afro-Brazilians came to Salvador from the areas of the interior to look for work, and have subsequently ended up creating huge favelas through out the city. These favelas are similar to slums, but the majority of the population lives there. Also, Salvador, being so African influenced, has a unique blending of religions. This mixture is called Candomblé. It mixes traditional Catholicism (Brazil has the greatest Catholic population of any nation) with traditional African religions. The result is churches with many different folk traditions, and prayers/holidays built around many different deities called Orixás. The area around Salvador is also pretty economically depressed, again in part to the high African population, and other industry factors. We learned about the music of Brazil and Carnival, and about all the foods and traditions. But, the most important thing we learned was how dangerous this port was going to be. To listen to the pre-port briefings, you’d think that a good 50% of our population was destined to be maimed, robbed, and possibly killed. I think the desired effect was to scare the students so they wouldn’t spend their entire time getting drunk and making victims of themselves. It worked to some extent. Hell, it scared me. However, I made it through unscathed. I woke early the morning we pulled into Salvador in order to get a good view of the city as we pulled into port. The city had a hazy cloud cover that made it seem shrouded in mystery. The bay is very large, so it seemed that there was land all around us. As we pulled into the dock area we could hear loud music and voices cheering in the distance. A bunch of us realized that it was Carnival revelers still partying at 6am from the night before. It turned out to be an accurate a preview of the days to come. We pulled into the port, which seemed very industrial. But we later learned that the main part of the city was not far from the docks. Salvador is a divided city. There is the Cidada Alta up on a hill above the waterfront, and the Cidada Baixa which fronts the water and then descends down to the other side of the bay. In order to travel from the Cidada Baixa to the Cidada Alta one must take a huge elevator called the Lacerda Elevador. The elevator was free during Carnival (lucky us) but is usually 5 centavos per trip. As we pulled into the port we could see the Lacerda Elevator in the distance taking people to the upper area of the city. Immigration came on board and we had to again march every person on the ship through the process of a face-to-face meeting with the immigration officials. Evidently the US has made it very difficult for Brazilian citizens to receive visas and to travel to the US. As a result, Brazilian officials have done the same in return and take extra care to scrutinize all American travelers. This is not the case for any other nationalities visiting Brazil. Interesting, huh? I guess turnabout is fair play. At any rate, we learned our lessons from Puerto Rico and the process went quickly and smoothly. Then we had our Diplomatic Briefing by a woman from the US Embassy in Salvador. The woman’s name was Heather, and she proceeded to give us the worst presentation EVER. First she interrogated the shipboard community to find out what we knew about the issues Salvador and Brazil faced, and then if we could list the resources and relative successes of the country. I think she must have fancied herself a professor in front of her pupils, but it was awful. Thankfully our Academic Dean, Mike Maniates (an awesome guy) interceded on our collective behalves. Next, Heather went on to scare everyone by telling us how dangerous things were in Salvador and Rio during Carnival. That as white people (mostly) we would stick out as victims, and we should be prepared to deal with the criminal element. She finished this lovely presentation by relating a story about a recent event in Rio. Evidently, things are so dangerous in the Brazilian cities, that the traffic laws do not require people to stop their cars at the traffic lights. Well, when this woman stopped at the light b/c the car in front of her was stopped, she was carjacked by a group of men. She and her daughter got out of the car, but her 5 year old son did not make it fully out of the car, and was evidently dragged 7 miles by his leg caught in the seatbelt. The carjackers never bothered to stop even though cars and observers tried to alert them. The 5 year old died, and it caused a big national stir discussing crime in Brazil. Yes, this is the uplifting story that dear Heather decided to relate to us as a welcoming message to Brazil. Oh boy… not a good sign. Eventually, we cleared the ship, and slowly everyone disembarked. This process took forever b/c the gangway was on the 5th deck, which meant everyone had to walk down the loooong rickety staircase to get to the dock. I was one of the last to make it off the ship with Dan, and Tom (fellow RDs) and Emily, Tom’s partner, Joe the video guy, JP the AV guy and his wife Shannon. As we descended the gangway we were greeted by an Afro-Brazilian steel drum band serenading us, and 4 Bahian women dressed in native costume welcoming us and tying Lembraça to our wrists. There is a church in Salvador called Igreja do Nosso Senhor do Bonfim, which is beautiful and ornate and unique for all the Candomblé influences. Also, there are wax body parts hanging in one of the rooms of the churche for all the miracles performed to heal people there. It was surreal indeed. Anyways, the church creates and gives away colorful ribbons that say “Lembraça do Senhor Do Bonfim” in large block letters. Legend has it that you tie the ribbon around your wrist with three knots. With each knot, you make a wish. Leave the ribbon on your wrist, and once it falls off, the wish will come true. So as I stepped off the ship, I had my lembraça tied by a lovely Bahian woman, and made my wishes. The people in Salvador de Bahia call themselves Bahians (pronounced Ba-ee-an… no “h”). In fact, the whole area is really referred to as Bahia, and rarely Salvador.

Next we all walked from the port area to the Modelo Mercado, the big market close to the Lacerda Elevator. It seemed like a giant tourist trap (which it was) but was once the main market for the city. We shopped around a bit, and I honed my tactic or pretending to look disinterested and ignore people talking directly to me. It goes against my nature b/c I try to make a point of acknowledging everyone I encountered, especially those people generally ignored by those around them. However, I am learning to put on a “New Jersey attitude” as my colleague Tom calls it. I do know that the word I used more than any other during my walks through Salvador was “não” which means no. It felt weird to say, b/c it is pronounced like a nasally “now.” So while I was declining people’s offers to sample their wares, I felt like I was really telling them I wanted them to hurry up. Most peculiar. After shopping, we all grabbed lunch at a restaurant nearby. It was clearly a place for locals, and we enjoyed it thoroughly. The place was called Restaurante de Maria do São Pedro. Long name, huh? We settled in and enjoyed the lazy Brazilian afternoon. We didn’t have much of a choice b/c Brazilians move very slowly, and lunch took forever. Dan and I agreed to share a dish, and felt adventurous so we ordered a “specialty” without any idea what it was going to be. But the “Segreda de Maria” turned out to be pretty good. It was black eyed beans cooked with chicken and spices in palm oil. Everything in northern Brazil is cooked in palm oil, called Dende. The odd thing about it, is that eating enough dende oil can kill you pretty quick, yet they’ve been doing it forever. I figured “when in Brazil…” The ship’s doctor recommended popping two Peptos before every in-port meal from Brazil through Vietnam in order to avoid traveler’s diarrhea. I’m glad I did, b/c Dan did not, and he paid for it later. At any rate, the Segreda was good. It came with a dish that had little yellow piles of what looked like cornmeal. I tried a little and discovered it was manioc flour, which is a BIG ingredient in most northern Brazilian cuisine. It has a distinct smell to it, but the texture is like sand in your mouth, and not too tasty. I know I’m painting a great picture. I added a little to the Segreda to be adventurous. We were also given a typical side dish called Vatapá, which is manioc flour cooked with fish water and spices, and some vegetables. It looked like baby puke, but I enjoyed it until I learned what all the ingredients were.

After lunch, most of the folks went back to the ship in order to get ready for some field programs, but Dan and I headed over to the Lacerda Elevator for a trip to the upper city. We were told that the only way to travel to the upper city was by taxi, or the Lacerda Elevator. There were many footpaths to take, and several sets of stairs, but we were told that under NO circumstances should we ever, EVER venture up the stairs… day or night. With a warning like that, you better believe I avoided the stairs. The main part of the upper city is the Pelourinho (or the Pelo for short). The Pelo is where all the old parts of the city are, and the main cultural heart of Salvador. Pelourinho means “Whipping Post” and signifies the square where enslaved Africans were tortured and sold. Gives you that warm toasty feeling inside, huh? Anyways, during Carnival the city is decorated with banners and ribbons, and all sorts of colorful signs and bunting. It is also overrun with garbage and urine and filth. It was a strange combination. The architecture was Colonial and colorful, and quite nice with cobble stone streets that crisscrossed up and down hills in a strange manner I didn’t quite understand. There were large representations of Afro-Brazilian women in native dress and banners cheering on the revelers of Carnival. My favorite was huge metal pinwheels high in the air that had images of these women spinning in the breeze in a carefree way. The feeling was celebratory, and reminded me of New Orleans (pre-Katrina) during Mardi Gras… both festive and fun, but also slightly trashy and dirty. In the main square, we found a band of kids in a drum corp marching through the streets. They were cute, and having so much fun. I snapped a couple pictures. From what I gathered, the kids can perform in the afternoons as a warm-up to the main event in the evening.

Being the early afternoon, the day was just getting started. People were beginning to fill the Pelo in anticipation of another night of Carnival. As we walked around, Dan and I saw groups of men dressed in drag. Each group was dressed in a different theme. A group of babydoll men, a group of girl scout men, a group of sailor girl men, a big group of men all wearing pink fishnet body stockings with small black tutus and bowties and shiny gold wigs. My favorites were the men dressed as what looked like Bat Girl. It turned out that these men were actually police offices dressed up for Carnival. The men would pose and preen when you took their picture and were having a grand old time. Everyone nearby would respond to them with glee, and assure visitors that they were indeed straight, but that the drag was just a part of Carnival. (A strange, but fun part if you ask me). I got some great pics for my post-trip slide show. While Dan spent some time calling his girlfriend, I sat in the main square and watched a group of men do Capoeira. Capoeira is a native sport in Brazil. African slaves were brought to Brazil by the Portuguese (more Africans were enslaved in Brazil, than in any other part of the world). Capoeira is practiced as a dance-fight-game that looks intense and beautiful at the same time. It was suppressed for a long time b/c it it created a sense of unity for the African community in Brazil, and b/c it created skilled fighters within the enslaved population. In effect, Capoeira was a martial art that was disguised as a dance that could be practiced unbeknownst to the white slave owners. It is really fascinating to watch, and clearly athletic since I didn’t see one person doing Capoeira with more than 2% body fat. Sheesh! While waiting for Dan, I also felt adventurous enough to sample some street food called Acarajé which is essentially pork and vegetables inside a manioc flour shell and then fried in Dende oil (yea, the poisonous stuff, go figure). It was tasty, but one was definitely enough. Luckily, most of the things sold on the streets were pretty cheap. Brazil currency is called the Real, or Reais when plural. Each Real are divided into 100 Centavos. The exchange rate right now is about 2 Real for each US Dollar. So we made out pretty good there. Dan and I walked around and got a lot of pictures, and enjoyed all the sights and sounds of Carnival. There is tremendous energy in the city. Everything felt like it was in anticipation of a huge debaucherous party.

We took a quick break and wandered into the other main church in the Pelo called the Igreja São Francisco which has many interesting depictions of Christ in all sorts of agony. Every crucifix, or statue of saints were covered in painted blood, or had intestines spilling out, or huge spikes thrust into them. It was pretty gruesome. It was very different from the peaceful serene depictions of Christ and saints I’m used to seeing in more Western churches. After looking around the church, Dan and I took a few wrong turns and ended up in the lower city on a back street. It wasn’t quite the “bad neighborhood” but it clearly was not the touristy area. The backstreet no longer had touristy souveniers to pick out and haggle over, but sold normal clothes and other amenities. Most of the shops were closing up in anticipation of the evening Carnival festivities, when most of the city would wake up, shake off their hangovers, and begin to party anew. During Carnival, almost all businesses close. This includes banks, post offices, and most stores. But the touristy places do a brisk business. Eventually, Dan and I found our way back to the Pelo, and then down the giant Lacerda Elevator to the ship.

While I didn’t necessarily feel victimized in Salvador, I also did not really feel 100% safe either. I definitely was glad I was not alone. Since it was daylight, I brought my camera with me, but if I wasn’t taking a picture, then it was in my pocket with my hand wrapped around it. I later heard stories of students who did become victims. A group of women were held up at knife point, one young man was hit over the head and robbed when he ventured into an alley to take a leak, and one other student, Hunter, was surrounded by a group of kids who fished all his belongings out of his pockets, and even stole the t-shirt off his back. The most ironic part is that the T-shirt said “Peace” across the front.

My next stop was a dip in the ship pool. I’ve decided that any chance I get to pop into the pool without a throng of students floating about I’m gonna take. I chit-chatted with a few of them and learned of their plans to go experience Carnival. Some had purchased special t-shirts to be a part of a camarote. In Salvador there are large parades called Blocos, and they party down the street. On the sides of the street different groups create large grandstands, called camarotes, and have private parties to watch the parades go by. You have to pay admission to the grandstand and there is usually free booze and whatnot there. Also, the camarotes are the only safe places to view the bloco parades. The entry ticket is a special carnival tshirt to identify you as “in.” The students were proudly displaying their shirts and the outlandish outfits they planned to wear when they went out for the night. A few of the male students planned to wear just Speedos and sneakers. They were going with the “when in Brazil” mentality. I left them and got dressed to go to dinner with some of the RDs and other staff members. On my way back to my cabin I passed my friend Dia, the Registrar and fellow UVA alum, who was taking a group of students to be a part of a Trio Electrico. The trios are the largest of the Salvador Carnival bloco parades. They involve HUGE groups of revelers (all wearing their t-shirt tickets) following enormous trucks with huge speakers playing loud Carnival music. They are called trio electricos b/c the first one was a pick-up truck driving down the street with two men playing electric guitars. Two guys with guitars? Why is it called a trio? (you might ask). Well, the third guy was the driver. Ha! Anyways, I knew they were going to have a great time and regretted not applying for that trip. So I met up with the RDs and we stopped off in Purser’s Square to get some advice on where to go to dinner, and I found a bunch of the students dressed in the same bright orange t-shirts for the trio electrico. It turns out that one of the students had independently arranged for a group to join the trio as well. They had one last t-shirt/ticket and were very persuasive. After making apologies, and literally running to my cabin to change clothes and grab some cash to pay for the t-shirt (it was $150!!!) I jumped in a cab with the students and we headed to the trio. The cab ride took us through the favelas in Salvador to the other side of the city. The other side of the bay has all sorts of expensive hotels and apartment buildings and clubs, bars, restaurants, etc. all fronting on a nice beach. It was a surprise to see after the old style Pelourinho and the favelas. We found the Trio Electrico Jammill and joined the parade. Each night of Carnival a different trio electrico would parade down the Circuito Dodô, and we were told that the Trio Electrico Jammill was the biggest and best, and I believe that to be true. Only the best for me, right? He he… At any rate, I was completely unprepared for what I had joined. While many students had purchased t-shirts for the camarotes to watch the parade, I found myself IN the parade. People had come from all over to watch us dance our way down the street. It was a wild event, and I couldn’t believe I ended up in the middle of it. Picture 4,000 people all wearing the same neon orange tank top squeezed into a small New York City block, dancing to amazingly loud samba music. Now add a lot of alcohol and a sexually charged environment. That’s where I was. Part of the deal is a huge rope that surrounds the entire trio electrico and keeps out the people who haven’t paid. The result is that inside the rope it is very safe, and festive. All around me people were laughing and dancing and kissing, and having the time of their lives. Me included (except the kissing part). Outside the rope were the camarotes high above the street enjoying the slow moving parade and singing along, or throwing little commercial items into the crowd (like Burger King hankerchiefs or cellphone company stress balls). There were banners advertising beers and colas, and gym memberships. It was all surprisingly commercial. All throughout the crowd were venders selling Skol brand beer (the official sponsor of the Trio Electrico Jammill) and water and yummy Guaraná juice. Just outside the rope of the trio, and below the camarotes were throngs of people who just came to watch without paying. The entire night was a study in Brazilian race relations, because inside the trio ropes everyone was very light-skinned or white. The same was true for the people in the grandstand camarotes, but all of the faces in the crowds just outside the ropes were black. It was quite clear who were the haves and the have-nots.

Hours passed as we danced. People bought beers and they showered the crowd with them, and the heavens opened up and it rained down on us which just added to the whole party environment. For any of you who have seen the Matrix trilogy, it was just like the big tribal dance that happens in Zion in the third movie. At one point it occurred to me that I was dancing in the rain surrounded by electrical cables. Water and electricity are not always the best of friends, but I let that thought go with the pulsing music. And that music was amazing. All the Brazilians around us knew all the words, and the hand motions, and the dances that went with them. Every couple hours or so, some of the songs would repeat and we started to learn the words and totally began to feel like we belonged. It was mind-blowing. We danced and walked and sambaed from 8pm until 2am, and then I was done. A few other folks were ready to head back, and we pushed through the crowds to find a cab. I figured the parade was almost done, but I later came to find out that we left around the halfway mark. Oy vey! When we left, I bought some unidentified meat grilling on a stick and other things b/c I hadn’t eaten dinner (you better believe I had some Pepto first). Then we searched for a cab. We looked for 30 mins but they all seemed to be full. They we saw a cab in front of us with a couple people talking to the driver from outside. They didn’t get in and the cab drove on to where we were. We approached and gave him the address. The driver agreed to take us and we got into the cab to discuss a price. I was sitting next to the driver talking to him when suddenly a hand reached into the cab and grabbed the driver by the shirt and attempted to pull him out of the window. Suddenly the entire cab was surrounded by Brazilians all shouting at the driver and trying to tear him limb from limb. I ushered the students out of the car and off to the side of the road. Other cabs stopped and their drivers entered the fray. From what I could understand from their Portuguese, they were pissed off b/c the taxi driver didn’t take them, and instead drove on in order to pick up the touristy white American kids. We had unwittingly stepped in the middle of Brazilian race relations once again. They were very upset and ranted about taking the first person who comes to them. It reminded me a lot of news articles I’ve read about blacks in the United States not being able to get cabs in urban areas. I felt horribly guilty in that moment. The cab driver essentially said he had the right to take whoever he wanted. In the end the cab drivers there ushered us back into the cab and we drove quickly away from the entire situation. It was quite sobering… especially after 6 hours of dancing and very little sleep. I was glad to take a hot shower and get into my bed on the ship.

The next morning I met up with some of my staff friends and we joined the S@S trip called Bahia North Coast. The bus took us about 90 minutes north of Bahia to a brand new Natural Preserve. We saw exotic birds and white tufted marmacets (think little tiny monkeys with hairy white cheeks). Our guide Gisela (pronounced Geese-Uh-Luh) talked nonstop about our surroundings, and showed us a dreadful slide show. We were also taken to a “museum” filled with dead animals that had been stuffed for our viewing pleasure. I swear that every single story the woman told all day long was about death. We learned that Salvador is where older penguins come to die. It’s sort of the Boca Raton of the penguin world. We learned that the largest rodents in the world are called capivaras and they resemble R.O.U.S’s from the Princess Bride. We learned that Gisela has had many pets… each of whom died horrific deaths. She was incredibly morbid, and I had a very difficult time stifling a laugh every time she told a story. Ok, I’ll be honest. I didn’t even try. I laughed openly, and I am not sure she understood why. After our strange “Death Camp come Nature Preserve” experience we went to a small resort town called Guarajuba for what we were told would be “a delicious seafood luncheon.” Well, the resort wasn’t expecting us, and was not pleased we were there. We were told to swim for awhile while they prepared something. The beach was magnificent, with white sand, cool water, and huge waves. The lunch was not so magnificent. They didn’t serve us anything until 3pm, and what we got was fish stew full of bones, nasty Vatapá, and white rice. And what’s more, they didn’t even provide enough for each person to get a full portion. We were expected to share one dish for three people. Also, as we boarded the bus, Gisela had to come and collect extra money from all of us to pay for the drinks we had consumed waiting for the food. But, even though things didn’t really go as planned, I still had a good time. I’m trying to be as flexible as possible, and trying to see the bright side of things. Not so hard to do when traveling around the world (at 20 miles an hour).

After getting back to Salvador, I went to dinner with RD’s Dan, Melanie, and Tom, and Tom’s partner Emily. We took a cab to the Pelo which was now PACKED with people. We found a cool restaurant and ate some great food and watched Carnival happen all around us. In the Pelo, we saw people walking on stilts with huge paper machier (sp?) heads wandering about, and there were roving bands of musicians playing samba music with horns and drums. All of the roving bands wear fedoras and striped shirts. The only difference is the color of the stripes and the color of the band on their hats. I don’t know the origin of the outfit, but it was essentially the uniform of the groups. Each band of musicians had a small following that dance around them. After dinner we followed different groups around the main square. We’d leave one and join another when we got tired, dancing the whole way. People nearby were spraying “Axé Brasil” canisters, which are full of a foamy substance that looks somewhat like confetti, and smells like jasmine. The whole experience was intoxicating. Everything smelled like manioc and jasmine (and still a liiiitle like urine). We saw groups of older women dressed in huge native costumes that had been made out of foil coffee packages, or beer packages, or potato chip bags. They were so ornate, and these tiny little women were enjoying themselves so much. Again, the significance of the outfits was lost on me. I am sure they were not meant to advertise the brands, but they were very interesting. They paraded around a dias where a “king and queen” for each group was introduced and danced around in similar brand, but more ornate outfits. We saw a group of topless dancers who were painted completely silver. Two men and a woman that were 100% silver and shiny and dancing their booties off. All you could see was their smiles full of teeth gleaming through the silver paint. I bought a coconut and watched as it was hacked open in front of me and drank right from the hole. It was a unique experience, and I’m glad I got pictures since I don’t feel the need to repeat it. At any rate, we made our way back down the Lacerda Elevator and to the ship at a decent hour since we all had trips planned for the next day, me included as Rio was calling me!

I can’t believe how long this blog entry is, and I haven’t even gotten to my time in Rio. If you’ve stuck it out this far, then you are a good friend indeed. Kudos to you. And now, on to Rio.

So I made my way to the Union on the ship at 5am after sleeping not at all. I met most of the students for my trip and we prepared to set off. After waiting around for 20 minutes, we were still missing 3 of our students, but had to leave. Two caught us as we loaded the bus. They wanted me to wait so they could go grab a few more things since they hadn’t really packed very well. I believe my response was something like “37 people managed to pack and show up on time, and I’m not going to make them wait. If you get off the bus, I’m going to leave.” One of the lovely ladies then asked me why I had to be “such a cold bitch.” Ah… college students know just what to say to refresh me at 5:45am. Our final student never showed up. That meant she paid $1300 (non-refundable) and threw it in the toilet. How sweet, huh? We got to the airport and flew to Rio without much concern, and were met by our guide Eugenio. He loaded us onto an air conditioned bus and we drove through Rio de Janeiro. Now I must stop here and tell you that I have come to an important conclusion about the evolution of man. In our entire existence, we have invented many things. Fire, electricity, Cool Ranch Doritos, the internet, etc. None of these are as great as the invention of Air Conditioning. I thank God every day for this great gift. Anyways, as we drove through Rio, I learned that the name of the city is a big farce. Rio de Janeiro means “River of January” in Portuguese. Why would they call it that? Well, the Portuguese “discovered” the area on the first of January many many years ago. When they entered their “discovery” into their ship log, it was January 1. Also, they mistakenly though that this huge bay was really a river. Wrong they were, but the name stuck. People from the city refer to themselves as Cariocas. I choose to think this is in defiance to the crappy name some Portuguese dork gave them eons ago. My first impression of Rio was that it looked so clean and nice. Eugenio pointed out many of the favelas to us, and explained that most of the people in Rio live in the favelas. They have electricity, and water, and postal service, and all sorts of amenities. But they are far from perfect. His descriptions of people who have normal everyday jobs but live in the favelas really normalized them for me and the students.

We drove past the giant practice areas for the samba schools who were gearing up for the second night of competition in the Sambadromo (more on that later). Our first stop was at Pão de Açucar, also known as Sugarloaf Mountain. All around Rio, and through the bay area are huge rounded granite mountains that rise up from the earth. The city has grown in and around them. The mountains are covered in lush greenery, and it all feels very tropical. It doesn’t hurt that it’s summer here in South America. We all loaded up on two sets of cable cars to the top of the mountain and were rewarded with amazing views of Rio. I’ve read before that the three most beautiful water cities in the world are San Francisco, Sydney, and Rio de Janeiro, and not having seen Sydney, I’m willing to believe that without question. I am not certain how to describe this cosmopolitan, cultured, vibrant city. The beaches are gorgeous (as are the Brazilians on them), the landscape is dramatic and breathtaking, and the bay is spectacular. I snapped many a photo from up there. I can’t wait to share them. After leaving Sugarloaf, we were treated to lunch at a Churrascaria called Mariu’s. Brazilian churrascos are restaurants where they serve BBQ meats, and they are carved right onto your plate. I have no idea what they do to make the meat taste so good, but I have never, ever, ever, in my whole life tasted meat that was so flavorful. We ate filet mignon, top round, ribs, ribeye, chicken, pork, sausages, frog legs, seafood, sushi, carpaccio, crab legs, and then more from an array of other Brazilian delicacies. Mariu’s was an interesting place. It definitely felt like an upscale beachfront restaurant w/ haute Brazilian cuisine, but there were flower petals and peanut shells all over the floor, and the strangest collection of street signs, vintage alcohol posters and religious iconography on the walls. And in the bathroom, there were long dripping candles everywhere and the floor was covered with pebbles and beach glass. In fact, the sink was full of them as well, and the urinals were full of beach glass and ice. I’ve never peed in a more interesting place. I thought about snapping a picture, but then decided that might not go over well with the other folks using the bathroom. See, I can use my noggin every now and then.

(Time note. This blog is taking forever to write and it’s now 3 days later and I am quarantined in my cabin b/c I have the first CDC reportable case of diarrhea& flu for the voyage. Aren’t I a lucky dog! But I am going to try to use the time to catch up on my blogging).

After our superb luncheon we checked into our hotel. The Rio Othon Palace Copacabana is a 5 star hotel, and it’s right on Avenieda Atlántica (the beach). We were originally supposed to stay in a 3 star hotel, but a glitch with the travel company bumped us up. No complaints here. The hotel was nice, though surely not a 5 star by American standards. Because of our delinquent traveler who missed the flight we had an extra space, and when the rooms got reshuffled, I’ll be damned if I didn’t end up with my own room. Now just HOW did that happen??? =) So there I was, sitting on my 22nd floor balcony overlooking Copacabana Beach and Avenieda Atlántica during Carnival. I soaked up that atmosphere for about 30 minutes, watching the small blocos dancing down the beach, and the flea market along the street and the beachgoers. A word about the people of Rio. They are (and I don’t want to understate this) F***ING GORGEOUS. As a culture they are very health conscious, and I saw gyms everywhere. Walking around Rio made me reflect on how heavy Americans really are. I felt like a big ole fatty walking around Brazil. I got an eyeful of Brazilian babes b/c the beach was packed with people. I took a quick nap before meeting Eugenio and the students for our night at the Sambadromo. The evening began with a bad taste in my mouth b/c our guide asked around and sold 22 of the students tickets to the Sambadromo for about 360 Real (about $125). The problem is, that me and 8 students paid $395 US through S@S. He tried to sell it that our seats were much better and therefore worth the price differential. But it was not the case. In the end, I got over it. We all loaded onto public buses and then the subway for our trip to the Sambadromo. The samba schools that compete in the big Carnival competitions are huge community clubs that put on these huge shows. The people in the parades are of all ages and shapes and sizes. While we were on the subway, we watched as people joined our car at each station. Many of them were dressed in huge costumes with in all sorts of bright colors. And they were so proud. That was the best part. For that day, they were all celebrities. I remember one group in particular. It was three men, and a woman. Two of them men were black teens, the other man was in his 30s and the woman was in her 50s. They were in tight lycra suites and had giant pink feather boa type headdresses attached, and they were so proud of their ridiculous garb. I was proud for them. I’m so glad we took the subway, if only for the glimpse into real Rio culture. For the record, Rio’s subway was very clean and modern. Yet another example of why it is such an amazing city. I’m not sure what I expected from the Sambadromo, but I was surprised by the reality. It looks a bit like a NASCAR racetrack. It has a wide lane surrounded by tall grandstands where spectators sit and cheer on their favorite schools. Our tickets had us sitting right in the middle of the long track and across from the judges. We got there at 9pm for the start of the first school. 13 samba schools made it into the big competition time this year. The first six competed on Sunday night, and we were set to see the next 7 perform on Monday. I learned all about the very strict rules of the competition. Each school has only 90 minutes for their presentation and must have the entire parade complete the course in that time. Each school must use between 2500 and 4500 participants in their parades, so as you can imagine they are huge shows. Each procession is judged on percussion, sambo do enredo (the theme song), harmony, song & dance, choreography, costumes, story line, floats, & decorations. The competition is always hotly contested, and the winner is the pride of both Rio & all of Brazil. The parades begin in moderate mayhem and work themselves up to a fevered frenzy. From the distance, the procession looks like a single living organism. It’s a throbbing beast that slowly comes closer – a pulsing, glittering, Japanese-movie-monster, slime-mold threatening to engulf all of Rio in samba. And everyone in the grandstands is singing along with them b/c all the samba schools songs’ and themes’ are flooded on the airwaves the weeks running up to Carnival. Phew! The only good way to describe a samba school presentation is to take the Opening Ceremony for the Olympics, multiply it times 10, and then give it a Superbowl competition feel. And then remember that this happened 7 times all in one night. It was exhausting, but you didn’t want to miss a single moment.

I managed to stay awake for 5 of the 7 schools, and finally had to grab a cab back to the hotel around 5am b/c I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand and dance through the last two. That was sad b/c the last two were supposed to be the best two, and in the end the winner of Carnival this year was Beija Flor, the last school to perform. The themes were varied and diverse. Three of the presentations dealt with African themes. One in support of Mandela and South Africa, one honored the diversity of African culture, and a third about the African influence on Brazilian culture. The other two were very tongue-in-cheek, one dealt with all manners of pictures, and showed pictures coming to life, and phases of people’s life where they take a lot of pictures, and famous people and places that are photographed a lot. It was really unique and inventive. The school was named Unidos da Tijuca and I thought they had a good chance to win. They ended up placing 8th. Shows what I know. Another great one was by Viradouro who used a game/casino theme and turned everything upside down. Their floats were upside down, their costumes were upside down… everything. Another favorite of mine was by the Portela school who did a theme based on Greece. It had a strong Olympic Games under current, but also hit on the Greek Gods and Pan Am Games which will be in Rio during 2007. It was so fun to watch. It seemed to be the crowd favorite, and placed 4th overall. I’ve got some awesome pictures of the costumes and floats. Words can’t describe them more than I have, so I’m not even going to try.

The next morning… well I should say afternoon, since I slept till noon, I walked down the block to a local luncheonette, called Big Nectar, and had myself a smoothie made from açai berries, which only grow in the Amazon and have more cancer fighting doodads than any other fruit. I paired that with a nice Misto Queche, which is like a fluffy grilled ham & cheese sandwich made from cured Brazilian ham and gooey local cheese. It was “muy bom” (very good). After my lunch/snack I climbed into open air jeeps with the students and we drove up up up Corcovado Mountain to visit Cristo Redentor. He’s better known as Christ the Redeemer, and is the mondo statue of Christ that stands watch over and blesses the entire city of Rio. Corcovado means Hunchback, and the mountain does rise like a hunchback over the city. The statue is 38 meters tall (which translate to mega-majorly huge) and has a placid expression on his face. The statue is made of solid concrete and is covered with tiny triangular soapstone tiles to protect it from the elements. The view from atop Corcovado is unparalleled. The left arm of Christ points out to Maracanã, the world’s largest soccer stadium (I had to give a nod to futból since I was in Brazil). I took a ton of photos from up there. Ah, Rio. Such an amazing town.

On our way up and down the mountain we passed more favelas and crowds of children and locals sitting by the road. They would always wave and cheer, and shout friendly welcomes. The friendly nature of people in Rio was so different than what we had experienced in Salvador. Like night and day, really. Once we got back down the mountain we changed into our bloco t-shirts and joined one the bloco for the Clube do Samba. Blocos in Rio are very different than in Salvador. In Rio they are much smaller, community oriented, less exclusive, and not so comercial. They travel along the beach, and people literally come right off the beach and join the parade for awhile. They are local affairs and a lot more spontaneous. The city shuts down a couple of lanes of traffic during Carnival to let them pass on the main thoroughfare, and they intertwine and samba along. Each one repeats its song as it goes, and Cluba do Samba’s song sounded like it was about a woman selling fruit, but truth be told, I’m not sure… but it sure was catchy. Little by little the students all wandered off to find their own parties for the night, and I found myself alone in the bloco, which suited me fine. Eventually, I also wandered back to the hotel and changed into my swimsuit. I walked across the street and swam in the Atlantic on Copacabana Beach. The water was cold, and full of silt, but the waves were nice and big. Since the sun was setting, most people had left for the day, and the air was charged as people prepped for the last night of Carnival. I went up to the rooftop pool and swam a bit more and talked to some of the students. A few of us decided to grab food at a nearby buffet frequented by locals. It was a scaled down version of the churrascaría from the previous day, but cheaper. The place was called Kilograma. The concept is that you load your plate with whatever you want, and then it is weighed. You pay by weight. A nice idea if you ask me. And daaaaamn good eatin’ too. We had a leisurely dinner, and the next thing we knew, it was after midnight. That took us by surprise, because the restaurant was still full of people eating dinner. I dropped the students back at the hotel as they were going to a club in the Leme district w/ friends, and I wandered over to Ipanema. I found the Rua Farme do Amodeo, which is a famous street full of clubs and bars catering to a more liberal crowd. The street was packed full of people. Just as I arrived, everyone suddenly poured down the street towards the water. I followed, and a huge beach party/rave ensued. I walked around and chit-chatted with folks and danced a little, waded in the water a bit. It was fun. Next thing I knew it was 3am. I took a cab back to the hotel and found a bunch of my students in the lobby drunk as skunks. They were trying to find another hotspot at which to continue their party. They must not have had much luck as they decided to prank call my room a few times and knock on my door. It was all in good fun, and luckily they didn’t wake me as I was sitting on my balcony again, watching Carnival rage on the street and beach below, even at 4am!

I awake bright and early at 8:30am and called all the student rooms, and somehow they all managed to show up, and make the bus with their passports in hand. Many of them were hungover, and a couple were still drunk, but they were all present and accounted for. I don’t want to give the impression that they were all drunk and out of hand, b/c many of them were quite responsible, and I enjoyed their company a great deal (well, most of them). We had a nice uneventful flight back to Salvador. I got back to the ship and quickly went out to mail some postcards, grab a bite to eat, and purchase some souveniers. I got myself a wooden statuette of a fist making a gesture called the “fig” which means long life and health in Brazil. I think I bargained a good price for it. I also bought a berimbau, which is a musical instrument that looks a bit like a bow & arrow. I got worked over real good by the salesman. He clearly knew he had a sucker in me. He offered 90 Real as an opening price. I countered with 30 Real. I ended up paying 45 Real. I thought I did Ok. Till I immediately turned around and saw a berimbau I liked a lot more, for 10 Real less. And I later had dinner with a student who bought essentially the same berimbau as me for $5 US, or about 10 Real. Grrrr… I am chalking it up as a lesson learned. It will make me better at bargaining in future ports.

Much like in San Juan the students did a good job of getting back on the ship by on-ship time. The exception were three of my residents. A guy named Jared who is on my Jew Crew, and two roommates who are also both Mexican nationals and both named David. A number of students reported about their whereabouts, and their recent run-ins with the local police, and after 45 minutes we started to be worried if they would make the ship before we left. I was especially worried, b/c I really enjoy Jared and the Davids. In the end they arrived about an hour late b/c they had ordered an expensive dinner and wanted to enjoy it. Trust that they are being sternly dealt with & won’t make the same mistake again. We departed on time at 2300 hours, and began our 8 day voyage across the Atlantic. More on this eventful leg of the journey soon. Much love to all back home.

Hangin' with the Arch

2007-02-15T10:30:00.000-08:00

Me and Archbishop Desmond Tutu. How cool, huh?

Cabin Photos

2007-02-14T16:41:00.000-08:00

Here are a couple photos of my cabin for any interested folks. I'll also throw in one of the gangway. Then read below for more tales of the trip.

XOXO -me

Equitorial Archbishop Valentine's

2007-02-14T16:25:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine’s Day. Guess what!?! I officially crossed the Equator a couple hours ago. Just like the NFL’s infamous yellow line, there was a bright green line painted across the ocean and the ship “bumped” as we crossed the Equator and journeyed forth into the Southern Hemisphere. Who’da thunk? I took a few pictures to commemorate. I’ll do my best to upload one or two. We’ll see how successful I am. One is of most of the Student Life Team, though none of us look very good in it, and the second is of me and RD Lesley. We did some silly pictures too, but I'll save those for the slide show when I return.

The last few days have been incredibly hectic. I’m glad to say that things have finally settled into a routine. First, there’s Global Studies in the morning, (followed by a nap) then the Student Life Team meeting, then working in the office or the Student Life Desk, student group meetings, AFTerHours, and then an hour or so hanging out with fellow staff members in the Faculty/Staff Lounge (a.k.a. my favorite place on the ship). Time seems to be sailing by, pardon the pun. Speaking of Global Studies, the class has proven to be pretty interesting. There have been a couple of classes in particular that shared interesting info. I leanred all about the First, Second and Third world nations and their distinctions (second world nations aligned with the USSR in the Cold War). Yesterday was a great class on Ecological Sustainability. I never knew studying the environment could be so much fun. Today’s class was on global oppression, specifically as it exists in Brazil... fascinating stuff. The class is team taught by all of the professors on board, each speaking on their areas of expertise. We’ve already lost two hours since leaving the Bahamas, and we will be loosing another 4 between Brazil and South Africa. I think that means my attendance at Global Studies will start to wane as my need for sleep increases. I’m not supposed to play hooky, but I’m hoping you all won’t tell. Cool?

Our first day back on board we had our Activities Fair, which was a huge success. I had a table set with 8 groups ranging from my spirituality groups (Bible Study, “Jew Crew,” Spirituality Programming Committee, and Religious Exploration) and my diversity groups (Women @ Sea, People of Color @ Sea, LGBTA @ Sea, and Diversity Programming Committee). 8 groups in all, but students came around and decided to create another few groups. My favorite group is the Organized Atheists. It was two guys who wanted an alternative to all the “Bible study crap,” as they put it. I told them they could hold meetings in their room, and be co-Presidents if they so chose. That seemed to suit them just fine. As things were winding down, Ron Wisner (“the Voice”) came by and put a buzz in my ear. I received a very special invitation.

The next morning, Archbishop Desmond Tutu himself was going to hold a small Eucharistic service in the Executive Dean’s cabin, and I had been invited. It was to be a small affair with the Dean’s and their partners, the Director of Student Life, Administrative Assistant Shayla (who is one of my favorite people) and a few students. I was asked to choose a few students to bring along. 7:30 the next morning, I found myself sitting in one of the posh 7th deck cabins with the Archbishop and about 10 others for a small mass, led by Tutu himself. The realization that I was in the middle of the Atlantic being honored with a private service from the Nobel winner himself, was dizzying. He is such a small man in terms of stature, but he really fills a room with his personality. He always seems to be smiling, and is very gracious. He shook hands with each person in the room and made a point to connect with everyone. He gave a short sermon during the service and spoke about the infinite love of God and the concept of eternity in Heaven. He said that even though people will be in Heaven for all eternity, no one will ever be bored. This is because time flies when you’re having fun, and there is no greater joy than experiencing the infinite love of God. He described Hell as a place with a table heavy with delicious food but surrounded by thin hungry sad people with spoons too long to feed themselves. In Heaven, it is the same scene, but the people there are jolly and fat because they use their long spoons to feed one another. He spoke a lot about developing community. It was awe inspiring.

What was not awe-inspiring was the first night of beverage service at our AFTer Hours, which we hold in the pool bar on 7th Deck. The new system they are using has the folks purchasing drink cards and then getting their cards stamped for each drink they purchase. They can redeem the card for a new one once it is full of stamps. They are limited to 6 drinks a night, 2 at dinner and 4 at AFTer Hours. You’d think that 6 drinks would be enough, but they all seem to complain that they aren’t able to get drunk. Needless to say, I’m not very sympathetic to their plight. The first night we held AFTer Hours, the students swarmed and tried to get as many drinks as they could. Once they realized they weren’t going to get more than the 10 allotted to them, they sort of gave up and left. Today, being Valentine’s Day and all, the crowd was the biggest yet, and the students were really out of hand. I was stuck with the fun task of policing the line to stop people from cutting. I have never been disrespected as much as I was this evening. It brought my spirits down. The only thing that made it OK was that a lot of the students were really thankful that I stopped people from cutting the line. I’ve decided that I really enjoy almost every aspect of my job, even staffing the Student Life Desk in Purserer’s Square. The only thing I don’t enjoy is working AFTer Hours. Well, no job is perfect, right?

We’re losing two folks from the voyage so far. One of them is a woman who decided to remove herself from the voyage in Puerto Rico. She was dealing with a lot of issues, and had recently begun counseling. Evidently she felt like she would be able to cope through the voyage but realize pretty quickly that it wouldn’t work out that way. The second loss is one of our Lifelong Learners named Bill. He is in his 80s and started to have chest pains. He’s spending the last couple days till we get to Salvador in the ship hospital, and then will return to the US. Oddly, while he was in the hospital, he kept asking to see me. The other Lifelong Learners came down to visit, as did staff and administrators, but the only person he wanted to speak with was me. This seemed really strange to the hospital staff, and definitely weird to me. I had only had one short conversation with Bill to gauge his interest in being a part of our Bible Study groups. When I went in to see him, he ended up talking for about an hour about his faith, and his family, and the books he was reading. He showed me photos of his grandkids and jabbered on about things. Even now, I don’t really understand why Bill felt connected to me and wanted to see me, but I hope I was able to provide some comfort for him. I’m going to go back and visit a couple more times before we get to Brazil.

I’ve held a ton of meetings in the last couple of days, and met with almost all of my student groups, which has given me the chance to interact with a whole new batch of students. They are all really activated, and want to be involved, and make a difference and connect. I’ve had some great conversations with our students of color, and connected really well with our Jewish students. I don’t know how it has happened so quickly but they are comfortable coming to me with their concerns. I think this is in large part to the fact that there are not many people of color on the staff. The Christian students have also taken to me since I am the one leading the charge to form Bible study groups and Spiritual Programs. I’m pretty excited to see what all these students come up with in their new groups. I’m guessing the fruits of their labors will start to show up on our next leg between Brazil and South Africa.

Well, the lights of the coast of Brazil are visible off the starboard side of the ship. We’ll be following the coast for the next couple of days till we reach the port. Not a bad way to end the night… seeing the twinkling lights in the distance. A couple days back we sailed between the island nations of St. Lucia and Martinique and then came with 20 miles of Barbados. It was a fun day sailing through the Lesser Antillies. Well, time for bed. I miss you all. Happy Valentines Day to everyone back home.

XOXO -me

Adios San Juan

2007-02-12T20:35:00.000-08:00

Adios Isla del Encanto! It’s been a few days since we left Puerto Rico, and I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to sit down and collect my thoughts into a blog. Don’t worry, it’s a good kind of busy. We had our Activities Fair, and now I have 16 meetings with 8 new student groups to organize before we get to Salvador de Bahia, Brazil in 3 days. But, while I have many new ship life stories to share, I am going to attempt to be chronological and discuss PR next.

I have to admit, I was treating Puerto Rico as a bit of a “throw away” port. I mean, afterall, it’s part of the United States, right? I figured it would be a good starter port for everyone to begin to understand the workings of Semester at Sea. That part was true, but when we pulled out of San Juan Harbor, I realized how great my time there really was. Back to the beginning…

We woke very early our first day in port in order to clear immigration. We were told in advance that immigration in PR would likely be our most rigorous of the voyage, since the US has strict guidelines post 9-11. The immigration officials demanded to meet face-to-face with every passenger on the ship, with their passports in hand before clearing us to go ashore. The staff alone took 30 minutes, and then funneling the students through took another 2 ½ hours. A few of the field trips were delayed as a result and people weren’t thrilled for the delay. Part of the delay was that a few people didn’t think they needed to go through immigration b/c they weren’t planning on disembarking, or other nonsense, and a couple just felt like taking their sweet ass time b/c they were spoiled as children (ok… I may be reaching there). One of my residents was the last guy to saunter up and go through the process. When I had the sheer audacity (sarcasm intended) to tell him he would likely receive dock time for holding our entire process, he went off on me. It was all I could do not to laugh in his face. Somehow, I managed. Before we were able to disembark, the Governor of Puerto Rico came aboard for our diplomatic briefing. It’s an honor that he came aboard, since last Spring they just sent the Sec. of State. There was a ton of PR news cameras and journalists who came aboard as well, and I was astounded about the coverage our arrival had stirred. Then, Desmond Tutu walked past me into the Union, and there were flash bulbs everywhere. This is the first time the student body had seen the Archbishop, except briefly in passing. Oddly, he was not formerly introduced, but the Governor welcomes us all, and paid specific intention to our Nobel Laureate. Something tells me they’ll be rolling out the red carpet in all of our ports, thanks to the Ace we have up our sleeves. If you can travel with a Nobel Prize winner, I highly recommend it. I was really pleased with the students on board. They packed the Union, and were really excited to hear from the Governor. He was treated as a rockstar, and that made me realize that many of them really are a part of this program for the right reason, to explore the world. The Governor’s remarks were very enlightening. He discussed the precarious relationship between Puerto Rico and the US. PR does not pay federal taxes, nor do they have a voice in Congress, or an electoral vote for the US President. However, they have faught in every War since the early 1900s. Puerto Ricans are Puerto Ricans first and foremost, and secondly they are Americans. They would never describe themselves as Puerto Rican-American. They’re completely separate identities. PR is the smallest of the islands of the Greater Antilles, and has the most tourism of all the islands in the Caribbean (which surprised me). It belonged to Spain for over 400 years, and as a result has a tremendous Spanish and European influence in the culture and architecture. The US “liberated” PR during the Spanish-American War and that’s when they became part of the US. Sorry if this reads like a history lesson, but if I don’t type it all out, I’ll forget once we get to Brazil and I fill my head with new/interesting/Brazilian facts.

So when we were finally off the ship a big group of staff members decided to walk into Old San Juan and check out the city. There were about 14 of us walking around and learning about the city. The weather was perfect the entire time we were in PR, and so it was warm, and bit humid but with an awesome breeze. Walking through Old San Juan was great b/c the homes and buildings look very Old World European. In fact, it reminded me of Rome and Milan with all the narrow streets, balconies, and coble stone streets. The big difference is that all the buildings are painted in bright Caribbean colors with white trim. One building will be bright blue, followed by an eye popping Orange, then pale pink, and a lime green… and on and on. The effect is charming. We learned that if you buy a home in Old San Juan, you cannot change the façade or the color of the home. I think that’s a great idea. Our first stop of the day was to visit the Castle Fort San Cristóbal Colón. Yes, they named the forst after Saint Christopher Columbus. The entire day, I kept wondering WHO sainted Christopher Columbus? The man who “found the New World” also killed thousands, enslaved thousands more, and spread disease, yet now he is a saint? Sheesh! But I digress, the fort was interesting, and overlooks the water, and has lots of authentic cannons which were used to repel the French, and English on a number of occasions. One of the more interesting architectural details I saw was that the entire city of Old San Juan is surrounded by a huge stone wall (built by the Columbus’ slaves no less). And set into these stone walls are small ornate look out posts that jut out over the water. They are really fun details and one of their national symbols (it’s on their license plates). Cool stuff. We also checked out “El Morro.” El Morro is the second, and larger fort in Old San Juan. It is positioned at the head of San Juan Harbor and protected the city for thousands of years. In fact, San Juan was considered the best defended port, and many a pirate failed in their attempted to plunder the Spanish “Chest of Gold.” El Morro was also quite cool, and full of more cannons, great views, and other fun things. Next to El Morro was a huge cemetery full of ornate graves for all of the old families of San Juan. The grave sites were beautiful with huge mausoleums and statues. Some of the sites had up to 16 people in them (and I’m guessing they’re stacked on top of one another… not sure how else they would fit). There was a small area where children had been buried, and a low tree hung over them. The tree had no leaves, and its branches were laden with small toys and stuffed animals. It was pretty very Blair Witch, and pretty eerie. The stray cats wandering around didn’t help, but overall it was very interesting from an anthropological and sociological standpoint.

Between the two forts, the group of staffers broke off into a couple different groups. My group went to get lunch at a restaurant recommended by our Puerto Rican S@S student. Roberto met an S@S professor a couple years back when the voyage arrived into San Juan. The professor described the program and recruited Roberto who raised the tuition money to be a part of our voyage. Go Roberto! Anyways, we went to “La Fonda El Jibarito” for our lunch. It wasn’t until later that I learned the name loosely translates to “the working man’s Starbucks” (no joke). I used my Spanish a bunch on this trip, but it failed me here. Lunch was a pork/maize dish that was yummy, but the highlight was a side dish called Mofongo. Mmmm Mofongo is a national dish made from plantains mashed and cooked with LOTS of garlic and butter. It was amazingly good. I was breathing and sweating garlic most of the day, but I’d eat in again in a heartbeat!

It was about halfway through the day when my camera decided to die on me. I swear, I really am the most techno-stupid person I know. After spending WAY too much energy and brainpower trying to fix it I realized the batteries were dead. It sucks those puppies down. After my battle royale with the camera, a few of us wandered around Old San Juan some more and stumbled across Cristo Street which has all sorts of posh retail stores. I was a little surprised (and let down) to see stores like Tommy Hilfiger (not sure how to spell it) and Banana Republic, and Harry Winston Jewelers. But there were some nice local stores interspersed. We stopped by Maria’s Bar and had some great frozen margaritas to quench our thirsts. Maria’s is a little hole in the wall right next door to the Governor’s Mansion, and it became the local hangout for our little staff crew. Maria herself works behind the bar and was always good for a laugh or two (provided you had a frosty beverage in front of you). After discovering Maria’s we wandered on and stumbled upon El Parque de las Palomas. Pigeon’s Park is a small square full of literally hundreds of pigeons. The birds are so domesticated at this point that they eat right out of your hand. A couple of kids had already tossed a bunch of corn on the ground and when we strolled into the park, the birds surrounded us and coo’ed as they ate. The sound they made sounded very much like a heartbeat thumping around you in stereo. If that wasn’t eerie enough, I put my arms out straight on either side, and the next thing I knew, the pigeons had flown up and perched on my arms. A couple even landed on my head and shoulders. I felt like a living scarecrow. After snapping a couple of pictures, I shoo’ed them off of me. I know it doesn’t sound exciting, but trust me, it was pretty damn cool. And the best part about it… we all left the park completely free of bird shit. I never woulda believed it. At this point, I made the trek back to the ship to clean up before my evening field program.

Because our ship was going to be docked for three days, we weren’t allowed to park at the cruise ship dock. The cruise ships got to park right at Old San Juan. Instead, we were down at the Naval piers a good 15 minutes walk from anything worth seeing. Once I finally made it back to the ship, I realized I had a little extra time before my trip to Bioluminescent Bay. I decided to put the time to good use and took a dip in the ship pool. It was the first time I could make it out there when there wasn’t a sea of lithe Coppertone commercial bodies out there. The dip in the tiny pool was just what the doctor ordered and I was prepared for my excursion.

I loaded up a busload of students, and we drive an hour from San Juan to the city of Fajardo. When we arrived they placed us into our kayaks I was teamed up with a tiny little student named Julie. They decided that Julie would counterbalance my huge manly frame. What’s more, the other kayakers laughed when they passed us b/c evidently the front half of the kayak was a good half a foot outside of the water. The back end (guess where I was sitting) was riding kind of low. As we’re kayaking through the channel, Julie keeps commenting on how easy kayaking is, and how great a workout she was getting. I told her I would stop paddling so she could see how it felt, and then we stopped dead in the water. Go figure! Anyways, we popped into the kayaks and paddled through a long dark channel to a huge lagoon. The water in the channel and lagoon was full of billions of dynoflagelites that fluoresce when you move them. It was absolutely amazing. I don’t think I can come up with adjectives to describe how cool it was. They glow a bright blue/green/white color wherever they are struck. Each time the paddle went into the water it lit up. We were allowed to hop into the lagoon and swim around, and then your entire body glowed when you moved your arms and legs. Even sitting in the kayak, the water running down your arms or legs looked like little sparkles or fireworks. We were very lucky because the night was clear, and the moon had already set. Here’s your fact of the day: All natural waters in the world have dynoflagelites. From lakes, to oceans, to streams… all of them. The difference is that there are more of them in the waters in Puerto Rico. The concentration is so high, that they cling to one another which makes them visible when they are disturbed and release their energy and floresce. There are only 4 places with bioluminescence in the world, and three of them are in Puerto Rico. When people see red tides in California, it is not the same thing. Red tides are the result of parasites in the water which destroy the waterlife. Cool stuff huh?

Phew, and that was just day 1!! Day 2, I took things a little easier. I slept in a bit, and then after lunch on the ship, I wandered into Old San Juan and took some pictures, and revisited the pigeons in the park. No one was around to take my picture, and the pigeons were keeping their feet on the ground, so I kept moving along. I made a point of checking out Catedral San Jose. San Jose Cathedral in the middle of the city. It is the second oldest church in the western hemisphere, and a very cool site to behold. There were some neat relics inside, and I really appreciated all the history. I also went into the Puerto Rican Capitol building and got some great shots of the dome. Eventually I made my way back to the ship to meet up with my RD colleagues for dinner. We headed back into the city and had amazing Puerto Rican tapas in a restaurant called El Picoteo (the rooster). The restaurant is inside El Convento Hotel. It is an old convent that has been converted into a hotel with a huge open courtyard, and intereting dark bars and candelabras. It was very cool inside and the food was outstanding. I also had two of the best Mojitos I have ever. Fellow RD Matt, and I stopped by a little cigar shop next door and were each given a couple of free cigars to sample. I tried one that had been cured in vanilla, and we were dipping them in rum and smoking them in the streets of San Juan. It was definitely a fun memory. I met up with another group of RDs and staffers and went back to El Picoteo while they ate dinner. Then we moved over to Maria’s to enjoy more of the local culture. Afterwards, I took a cab to El Condado, a more modern part of San Juan outside the old city, and checked out a few bars and clubs. I met some nice folks before heading back to the ship for the night.

Day 3 started bright and early loading up a couple buses for a trip to the rainforest. El Yunque is the name of the rainforest preserve in Puerto Rico. It was pretty impressive driving up the mountainside and into the rainforest. I was picturing a huge canopy of trees going thousands of feet into the air, but the reality felt like a very wet forest. It was indeed lush and tropical, but on a slightly smaller scale than I had assumed it would be. Plus, the entire hike was along paved paths. It was still fun, but this was in large part to our guide. Her name was Carolina and she was the funniest little lady you ever met. She was a black Puerto Rican in her 50s who danced around and preached at us the whole way. She ahred all sorts of tidbits about the island, and the people, and all the vegetation we saw as we walked through the rainforest. She discussed the Taíno Indians who were the original inhabitants of PR, but have not existed for 40 years. She told us all that Puerto Ricans are so attractive because they are a mixture of the Taínos, African slaves, and Spanish colonists. She used JLo as an example, talking about her African booty, Taíno carmel skin, and long luxurious Spanish hair. Carolina really cracked us all up. She kept pointing out all the little roadside vendors who sell fruit and friend foods, and little snacks. These vendor treats are called “Freaky Tings” and are eated by all the locals when they drive around the island. Carolina would point and giggle and laugh about all the “freaky tings, freaky tings.” You couldn’t help to laugh. She also discussed that the lifestyle for Puerto Ricans was to work hard all week, and then have Social Weekends spent drinking Bacardi (made on the island) and other local drinks. She and the driver discussed their favorite concoctions for a good portion of the trip. Everyone got a kick out of their banter, me included. We stopped for lunch at a small restaurant called “El Dajao” (no idea of the translation) and had the best and most authentic food I’ve ever had. It was rice cooked with spices, and stewed chicken that fell off the bone, there were black beans, and fried plantains, and flan… my mouth waters just remembering it all. After lunch we hot Luquillo Beach and enjoyed the warm Caribbean waters with a view of El Yunque and the mountains in the background. It was quite picturesque. I also admired the horrible sunburns that many of our students had received as a result of laying by the ship’s pool for hours each day. Sheesh.

Once we got back to the ship, I only had a couple of hours before I had to be back on the ship to welcome our students back on board before we left Puerto Rico. I used the time to head back into Old San Juan where I bought a few souveniers. I had asked some locals what kind of things would be authentic as opposed to cheap touristy stuff. In the end, I bought a Gypsy Kings CD, and a couple of musical instruments. I got a set of Maracas made from gourds, and an instrument called Guiro also made from a gourd that you scratch like a washing board. I also stopped into Maria’s and said goodbye to the place, and then hit a hat shop called Olé, and bought a Panama Hat, but in the Puerto Rican style. The PR styles are linen/straw fedoras with a black ribbon around the top. The PR style hats are called Plenaros and have short brims. The wider brimmed styles are called Jibaros, and were worn by sugar cane farmers in the field, but the Plenaro style is worn by the musicians in the cities, and the men of PR in their guyabera shirts. I was very pleased with my purchases. I enjoyed a quick taco dinner at an outdoor café where I sat and journaled for a bit as I listened to the sounds of San Juan around me. In reflection, I really think I go a true taste of the rich culture in Puerto Rico, and I hope to return for more exploration sometime soon. I stopped by Pueblo supermarket on the way and purchased 4 crates of Coke (b/c it’s expensive on the ship, and let’s face it… I have an addiction). I hopped a cab back and prepared for an onslaught of drunk students coming back to the ship at the last minute. But that wasn’t our reality. Turns out that with an hour to spare before on-ship time, only 175 people were left to return. In the end, the RD’s goofed around and had fun chatting with the students as they came back. The only people who were late were a group of women who had their belongings locked in a cab and they called ahead to let us k now. Everyone else was on board and just forgot to swipe their ID cards upon returning to the ship. I think everyone was surprised at how easily things went, crew included. We only saw a couple students who were clearly drunk, and we only found a couple of bottles of liquor trying to be smuggled on board. JR is our conduct officer, and he was really putting the fear of God into people when he checked their bags. He opened every compartment, and patted down every pocket. He also opened every bottle of shampoo, and suntan lotion, and everything else, and tasted them all to make sure they weren’t actually emptied and filled with booze. JR was weary of a bottle of bugspray and was convinced that it was vodka. The smell was subtle, but he was sure it was really booze and not actually Deet. Eventually he came over to me with the bottle opened and said, “yea, it’s booze. Taste it.” So being the trusting soul that I am, I put the bottle to my lips and tasted it... only to discover that it was actually 40% Deet bugspray. The RD staff and JR really got a kick out of that, while I convulsed and spat, and scraped my tongue for about 10 minutes. JR finally admitted that it really was bugspray. I laughed it off, until an hour later when the stomache cramps set in. I spent the next four hours shitting my brains out and cursing JR in many different languages. It’s now three days later, and I still haven’t lived it down. JR has taken to calling me “the Deetmeister” and I’ve had to tell the story many times. It’s actually one of my fondest memories from San Juan. Is that strange?

As we watched the lights of San Juan sail away into the distance, I realized just how much I had enjoyed my time in PR. I also realized how many great people I’ve met since I started this trip. I have people around who are genuine and fun, and always there for a quick laugh. They are committed and we don’t let each other get too stressed out. I enjoy their company and am glad to have another 90+ days to go. (so long as no one else tries to get me to drink the Deet!).