Gentle Readers
I again offer my apologies for not writing more steadily. Most days are wake up, work, go to sleep, and I have found little time to put my thoughts down. I hope to write about the highlights of the last two weeks. We have recently departed from Walvis Bay (a.k.a Wavlis Baai), Namibia and are headed for the short trip to Cape Town, South Africa. For those who cherish San Francisco, you would be happy to know that Cape Town’s foggy mornings and bustling atmosphere remind many of the Golden Gate city. There is much to be seen in Cape Town, and I wait impatiently for my safari. I am disappointed to note that I have come down with an illness, the flu or a cold, of which I am not sure. So I lay in my bed, resting, crocheting, and watching Pride & Prejudice, thinking of my sister and her daughter, wishing for the latter’s hugs and kisses.
Where to begin? Work has been busy and fulfilling, though it has meant that I do not exercise with the regularity that I wish. After Brazil, it took me a while to fall back into my routine of classes and work. What made the transition back even more difficult was losing five hours in seven days. Feared were the announcements made by “The Voice” over the PA system, reminding us that the ship (meaning us) would move the clocks forward an hour. By hour five, I was delirious and could scarcely eat and sleep properly. I see this as my immune system’s undoing. During these incredibly packed days, where our “community colleges” (i.e. discussions and presentations by faculty and staff) were stacked six to eight a night, and our Dean’s Memo (which is a reminder sheet of programs and event for the day) had to be printed in double-sided legal sized paper.
Tosh (an LLC) and I ran a staff development workshop to talk about our identities and our lives. How I wish Brian, Joy, David Pe, and Sam had been there with us! We first started with the histories of our names, a safe exercise. Then we ran a “My Story” workshop that I have adapted from work I did with Luis Inoa. People spent seven to eight minutes sharing (with other members in silence) about their ancestors and their families. One member of my group had recently lost a father, another was concerned about her relationship with her father and missed her mother enormously; others missed their children, spouses, and partners. By the end of our discussion, there was not a dry eye in the group. I had to hurry through my story for fear of bawling because I miss my parents, siblings, nieces and nephews, and my boyfriend so much. As one person stated, it was difficult but cathartic to share. The ability to acknowledge grief, sadness, and joy was both invigorating and therapeutic.
I may have forgotten to mention the caliber of talent that rides these deep seas. All professors are top of their field with a plethora of international experience. And even the partners of staff and faculty come with a multitude of skills and enviable backgrounds. Angela, this is the group for you. One professor, Patty Duncan, and her husband Sky, for a community college presented a film they hope to show at different festivals in the winter and spring. It is called “Face Forward”, a documentary about acid violence in Cambodia. The story follows Tat Mariana, a young woman who had a relationship with a married man, unbeknownst to her, and was attacked by a hired hand of his wife’s. As the married man was a government official, he, his wife, and the hired hand have never been prosecuted. Tat Mariana has recently moved to the U.S. where she underwent reconstructive surgery. Beyond her story, it is one that talks about acid violence in general in Cambodia. Acid is widely available, cheap, and sold on the street, and it has been come the weapon of choice to attack women. And even more insulting, is that men (who are the overwhelming attackers) are hardly ever prosecuted and that the women affected must spend the rest of their days in hiding due to the shame associated with acid deformity. This is of course deplorable, but as Americans we must also note that we also have a high number of acid related violence (Bangladesh having the highest prevalence) and that in the U.S. we use guns and knives which are more prevalent in our home. The documentary was incredibly moving, and student, professor, and staff left the film showing in tears. In the link section you will see a link to the website of the movie. I hope we will all pause and remember the women and their families affected by this senseless violence.
Though it can be difficult and exhausting to deal with sad situations and issues on the ship, I do have some pleasanter news of note. As many of you may know, I am an avid dancer, especially salsa (thank you John and Raquel). Before we pulled into port in Brazil, samba music was played in the Union and students started to dance. One of my resident, Jonathan, pulled me out of my seat and danced with me. I had an incredible time and people would stop me afterwards to tell me what a great dancer I am and for dancing lessons or tips. My dancing is apparently featured in the voyage DVD. During the voyage between Brazil and Namibia, the Students of Service (the volunteer organization on the ship) decided to do a fundraiser: “So you think you can dance?” I was badgered to participate with Hal Swartz, a Life Long Learner; a 78 year old man who has a partner, Doris, on the ship. Hal was in need of a partner, and my resident, Clare, was insistent that I dance with him. I obliged, and on the fateful day, the day before our Namibian arrival, Hal and I ended the first round with a meringue performance to Shakira’s “Ojos Asi”. Even before we started, we had a standing ovation. Our minute and a half performance was incredible, and the crowd’s love overwhelming. Though we did not win, we were congratulated for the rest of the night. Imagine, this was my first ever performance.
So you wish to know about Namibia? Well, I am sad to say, that I know very little, and my illness, which started our third day here, impeded my ability to, even shallowly; understand the country and its people. Yet I still have a wonderful time in the sleepy fishing town of Walvis Bay (pronounced Valfish Baa) and in this beautiful and sparsely occupied country (second least densely occupied country in the world). I again woke up early to see our entrance into the harbor, but unlike Brazil, it was incredibly foggy, and little was to be seen. Off the front of the ship, seals, dolphins, or penguins, were jumping and diving next to us. Three diplomats, two American and one Namibian, who all worked for the U.S. Embassy boarded the ship and met with my Ambassadors and I. A thorough briefing was given, but the best was the comments by David, the security attaché and a former corrections officer from New York City. He pushed the students to use common sense and be on their guard, though he commented that the country was relatively safe. This was especially interesting as the night before a thief had stabbed him in the forearm with a screwdriver. But what resonated was his advice to “be the zebra”. He said that if you watch the wildebeest, they jump in the river with no regard and are subsequently eaten by the crocodiles. On the other hand, the zebra stands back and watches and observes the outcome of the wildebeest and acts accordingly. I hope that we can make some “Be the Zebra” shirts.
My first night in the country was spent in the Namibian desert gazing intently at the stars. This was a wonderful trip, aside from the many students who became intoxicated and then chose to climb the mountain in their drunken state. We took Land Rovers past the silky dunes, the tallest of which is Dune 7, aptly name because it is 7 kilometers from the post office. One could imagine camels walking the tops of the dunes in search of water. Our car was silent as our group took the landscape in. The terrain reminded me heavily of Tatooine in Star Wars. We headed off the highway onto rock and sand roads passing the “Moon-landing” landscape, compromised of pockmarked mountains that glimmered in the sun. After these majestic mountains, we entered a desert scene more familiar to my El Paso eyes. The sand had turned courser, there was vegetation, where in the other scene there was none, and there were even bushes that reminded me of our mesquite trees. After wrong turns, and one car, which became stuck in the sand, we reached our camp. Two person tents filled in a space surrounded by imposing mountains. After learning which tents we were to settle in, the students literally ran for the hills. As I am afraid of heights, I went on a short hike with Amy L. (one of counselors). We watched beetles play in sand and sat on a boulder and listened to the silence. For dinner, we dined on fresh papaya, Greek salad, beef stroganoff, and Mexican chicken (Mexican culture is literally every where now). I will not bore you with stories of the drunken students and their dangerous actions. Instead, I will tell you about the incredible Namibian sky. With so few people and pollution the sky is remarkably clear. The Milky Way stands out proudly and the rest of the sky looks milky from the denseness of stars. Our stargazers pointed out constellations and even the planet Jupiter with a green laser pointer that only needed a “vroom” noise to be more reminiscent of a light saber. I only wish that I had a reclining chair to stare longer at the awesome stars. After the stargazing, the four staff members, Nikki, Shalina, Amy, and I sat in a tent and laughed for over an hour telling jokes and stories. The next day we left early, but not after I indulged in four guavas. On our way back we past the city of Swakopmund, and the beach area where Brad and Angelina had their daughter. The rest of the day was of little note, except for the very bad pizza I had for dinner that night.
The next day, Bill, Heather, and I ran to church where we met up with Linda (who I have failed to mention has joined our Catholic service as a cantor and has made such a positive impact on the group). Mass was said in English and Portuguese (apparently there is a large Portuguese population in the area). Afterwards, we walked around and milled about until cafes were open, and then we headed to the Pet Planet Café, that is both a pet store and a café. After this I went home and have essentially slept most of the rest of the time. I did meet with a surprise interport student, Kristen, who is studying at the University of Cape Town and is originally from Johannesburg (also known as Jo-burg). She was bright and cheerful even though her luggage had been lost and spoke to us of being responsible tourists (i.e. not purchasing objects that might have been poached or illegally hunted. I hope to have her participate in the next pre-port briefing. We did though have an amazing dinner at steakhouse, where I had a petite fillet (said fill-et here in Namibia) mingon and a drink for less than $12. I must always remind myself that these prices are such a bargain because the people here are so very poor.
As you may or may not know, Namibia use to be a protectorate of South Africa, which only recently gave it up. Like South Africa, it was under the regime of apartheid and only recently, in the 1990s, ended it in its country. The by products of this shameful practice are seen and felt unabashedly. Those who drove our cars to the camp spot and the tour guides were white. Those walking around town in painter’s outfits were black. Racism exists and continues to hurt those who are marginalized. Yet, all the people I met were happy and asked many questions. They were happy to see us, and our ship even made the Namibian papers. With this backdrop we are to visit South Africa. And yet I pause and reflect on the U.S. One of the professors noted in a pre-port briefing that 100 years after the end of slavery did our country finally desegregate, and that we should not be so quick to judge others. I noted, that we should not be so quick to acquit ourselves, though there are no laws advocating de jur racial segregation, there are many that are de facto. That is, racial segregation exists in the U.S., one only needs to look at schools in areas like Oakland, St. Louis, Houston, Philadelphia, Los Angeles to know this is true.
It is now 0015 and I am spent and should rest to get better.
Thank you for reading, and pictures of Rio and Namibia are on their way.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Crossing the Atlantic
Crossing the Atlantic
It is early. We changed our clocks back an hour last night, the first of five over this week. It is anticipated that we will spring forward an hour the next four days. I anticipate that I will be really grumpy for the next four days. I do not do well with time changes.
I have not posted for the past few days because I have been in port, first in Salvador and then in Rio de Janeiro and then back to Salvador. I disembarked on September 7, 2008, mid-morning after most students had left the ship. Heather, Bill, and Margo (one of my residents) headed up to the old center of town. Our ship ported in the commercial port, not necessarily the nicest part of town, but nice enough during the day. Women in hoped dresses, with large headscarves, danced for us and tied ribbons on our wrists. Alan, the staff doctor from Wales, remarked, “
Are these used to show who are the gullible Americans?” I quickly took mine off. We were later told that it was not a good idea to let people give you “gifts” of ribbons, because soon after these merchants would attempt to put necklaces and other jewelry on you and then demand money.
A quick aside, a lot of the safety information provided focused on reducing mugging, managing drinking, not eating raw fruits and vegetables that could not be peeled, and not having ice. Though I thoroughly appreciated all the safety information, there were times where I worried that we were creating an adversarial relationship with the people of Salvador and Brazil. One student told me that they gathered from a professor’s comments that it was not if they were going to get mugged, but when. During the time in Brazil, several people were mugged some walking down the street, others while they were intoxicated. I don’t what the happy medium is. Did we give enough information? Did students not believe they would be targeted and not take the precautions that they should have? I don’t know, but I still find our safety tone problematic, one that does not emphasis cultural exchange and appreciation.
Our group was looking for a low-key day in Salvador, walking around rather than sightseeing. Salvador was essentially empty (at least of locals, not so much of SAS people) because it was Brazilian Independence Day. It was easier to see the city, but more difficult to get the pulse and feel of the city. It was also a little disappointing to see how overrun the city had become by Semester at Sea because every corner I turned I saw another group of students. Many of who were drinking a coconut with rum. The drinking had begun. And apparently we were expected, as merchants were passing out tickets for free drinks for Semester at Sea participants. I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m complaining, but I think it’s necessary to critique the experience of SAS as well as talk about how wonderful it is (which it truly is), to give an honest account.
After leaving the port, we walked down a street that unfortunately reeked of urine, as we headed to a large indoor market. The market was filled with clothes, art, jewelry, and other knick-knacks. As in most markets, it is important to haggle. The dance begins with asking “how much?”. Then, you give a lower price, which the merchant says is too low. More haggling continues, and then you walk away. Then you’re called back and a new price is agreed on. On this first day, I gathered information on prices to be used later.
To enter the Cidade Alta (the “upper city”) we had to take an elevator up. The city of Salvador is split into two parts, the Cidade Alta and Cidade Baixa, the upper and lower cities, due to the tectonic plates in the area. The historic area of the city is found in the upper portion, and this area has now been designated a UNESCO Historical Site. This has preserved the area for posterity, but it has also commercialized the area. Bill told me a story about a family that owned three homes in the Pelourinho (city center) and rented them out. The city then exercised eminent domain, took the homes and paid the family an amount that did not even allow them to have a home in a neighboring favela. And this behavior reduced the number of families in the area, and merchants propped up by the local government now populate these areas. Salvador is a gorgeous place, but at what price?
We walked around the city center, passing beautiful artwork and capoeira dancers performing in the streets. A sense of calm and serenity passed over me, and I could feel the stress of work melt away. Unfortunately, my debit card was not working – even though I had contacted my bank, they still put a fraud alert on it – so after searching in vain for a cash machine that would give me money, we headed for lunch. We sat down at a restaurant called Mama Bahia (Bahia is the state where Salvador is found) and lunched on moqueca (a seafood stew, with palm oil, coconut milk that has a thickness of a curry), feijão (a bean dish), fried cheese balls, and fried squash (much like French fries). It was phenomenal. Anyone who knows me knows I love food, and that food is the most important aspect of traveling.
What is wonderful about being in the tropics is tropical fruit. Guavas, pineapple, papaya, açai, and other fruits that don’t have anything but Brazilian names because they are only found there, were plentiful. After lunch, we walked down to Cubano, a sorbet shop, and I had an açai sorbet. Açai is a small berry that is so sensitive that it will spoil in a day if it is not frozen or made into a suco (juice). It has a deep plum purple color, with a tart and chocolate flavor. And it packs a nutritional punch.
We then headed to a café, so that Bill could enjoy strong, beautiful Brazilian coffee (the coffee on ship is universally despised). After which we headed back to the ship, as we were advised that staying in the area after dark was dangerous.
I was to meet my group for our trip to Rio de Janeiro at 0315 in the Union. It would have probably good idea to have gone to bed early and/or nap. But I was having none of that. I had instead signed up for a welcome reception that would run from 2000 to 2400. After a small dinner and some last minute packing for Rio, I headed to meet my bus. Our bus raced through the city, running red lights because, as my tour guide informed me, “there are no other cars on the street so it’s ok.” We arrived at a circus tent set up in the medium of the street, and entered to meet our Brazilian student peers. A capoeria group performed doing acrobatic moves in the area. Our students and staff were asked up to perform with the capoeria performers. Then a drum group took over and played samba music, with a man who held a large lace umbrella danced around. Finally, some circus performers juggled and did danced in the air with streamers, like Circ de Soile. Some of the circus performers were part of an arts organization that worked in favelas primarily to give children an opportunity to have activities outside of school and keep them out of drug issues that pervade these poor communities
What I have failed to talk about is that the high majority of the population in the area is of African descent. The Bahia state had a large slave population, and Brazil did not stop slavery until late in the 19th century. Though the majority, they are still the marginalized group, poor and populating the favelas. Like in U.S. urban areas with high numbers of students of color, public schools in Brazil provide poor education and more affluent students attend private primary and secondary schools. But, public higher education is free, and only reserved for the best and brightest of the nation. For those with less education, private, expensive higher education institutions exist. This cements that the masses stay poor and uneducated (i.e. the people of color, in particular those of African descent) and white, wealth, elites stay in power.
Though all the performers were of African descent, almost all of the Brazilian students were mestizo or white.
After the performances, the reception devolved into a college dance party, with the typical traits of drinking, dancing, and one-night hookups. I prayed for the bus to come soon.
I took the 2330 bus back to the ship and after arriving home I took a quick shower and slept for two and a half hours. My alarm startled me awake at 0300 and I threw on some clothes and headed to the Union to find my students. I was to head 40 students to, from, and around Rio, and they sat curled up in their chairs half asleep. Two students were missing from the group (would not arrive in time to leave to Rio with us, but joined us the next day) so chaos ensued until we decided to leave them. We took a quick trip to the airport, where I sat with one of the faculty members, Erika Patterson who was flying with us to Belo Horizonte. I commented to her, when we got through the security line, how different going through the security line was from the U.S. She remarked that unfortunately we’ve all become a suspect in the U.S. She also told me the tale of being a Canadian student studying in Cuba and how she was harassed so often going through Miami (at one point being put in isolation for several hours and questioned) that she finally decided to go through Ft. Lauderdale instead.
We took TAM airlines to Belo Horizante, and as people are settling into their seats, the flight attends pass out butterscotch candies, Yum! I passed out at some point, and then was awoken by “breakfast” which was a piece of toast in a wrapper (doesn’t that sound great!) and guava jelly. I ate the guava jelly. I proceeded to pass out again until we arrived in Belo Horizante. After deplaning, we headed to the waiting area, where most of the students passed out on the floor, backpacks under their heads. We were there for about two hours, and then we boarded our plane to Rio.
You may not know this, I certainly didn’t, but there is no river in Rio de Janeiro. The Portuguese, two years after settling at Salvador, sailed into the harbor that would become Rio de Janeiro. But instead of a harbor, the Portuguese thought it was a river (I guess they thought it would be in bad form to admit their mistake) and since it was January: Janeiro. I was very lucky to know Spanish as it was easy to converse with Brazilians, but most of the time I had to speak slowly, though they rarely did. So, though it might have been difficult at time to understand, it was easy to read.
When we landed in Rio, it was cloudy and rainy, and the grand city looked gray and sad. This was matched by the mood of many of my students who were exhausted and not more than a little bummed that it was not a sunny day. Though I had checked the weather forecast, I like them brought shorts, t-shirts and a sundress. My one pair of pants and sweater got more use than anticipated.
Instead of our anticipated itinerary for the day was lost due to the weather, and instead we had a full free day. I spent an hour tramping around for a bank, and finally found one that would take my card. When I returned to my hotel, which was located right across from the famed Copacabana beach, my friend Brooke was sitting in the lobby. She had walked from her hotel (she was leading the second group) to meet me. We had some pizza (recommended by my tour guide, but not very good) and then decided to walk around Ipanema. Ipanema is both the beach and the neighborhood near it. We sauntered around the area, looking into antique shops and this beautiful jewelry shop, Bijou Box. My only regret right now is not purchasing a necklace from there. Oh well. Brooke and I decided to get a drink, and stopped at an Irish pub. We indulged in pub fare and shared our life stories, and then headed back to our hotels by cab.
The sun goes down so early (5:45pm) because we’re near the Equator (Rio is just north of the Tropic of Capricorn), that it feels so late at 9pm. Of course, as I was walking in, my students were heading out.
The next morning we headed out for our service project at a Samba school for a local favela. I should probably explain what a favela is. To be honest, it reminds me a lot of a colonia in the U.S. It is an unincorporated part of the city, in Brazil, usually found within the urban centers right next to expensive neighborhoods, where there are no services, infrastructure, or police. These are areas that have high poverty and crime. We were told not to call them favelas, and I only do so now so that those who know of them understand what I am describing. The reason for not calling them a favela publicly is because it’s direct translation is “slum”. I’m sure none of us would want to be told on a regular basis that you live in a slum, and not figuratively, but actually a slum. What’s frightening is that at my hotel, one of the signs for tours/sightseeing around town actually advertised “slum tours”. This did not give me high expectations for what was about to happen.
Our group loaded up in air-conditioned charter buses and headed off to the school. My biggest concern about the situation was that we would essentially take pictures of poor people and it would be this bizarre voyeuristic experience.
When we arrived, we watched 10 year-old boys running soccer drills, showing off to the group. We then were showed another building of the facility, but I hung around in the back of the group talking to some of the boys, learning their names, and practicing Portuguese. I started handing out some pencils I brought, and the boys freaked out. One pencil from the U.S. Supreme Court in the shape of a gavel was of particular esteem and the one boy, Agusto, kept having it taken from him. They ran off and told their friends, and I soon had a gaggle of children asking for pencils. When I ran out I gave out stickers and mini kaleidoscopes. Two little girls, must have been 3 and 6, were told by their mother to give me a kiss on my cheek when I gave them Winnie the Pooh stickers. This was easily the best day ever.
We finished the day walking through classrooms talking to the teenagers, but our presence was very disruptive and they asked us to move on. One student, Jamie, really knew what this visit was about: interacting with students. I wish more people had given themselves up to meet people, instead of holding back and merely taking pictures. Brooke and I both talked about needing some set activity to really get students engaged.
After this, we decided to insult our experience by having an all you can eat Brazilian barbecue buffet. Don’t get me wrong it was delicious. And I’m not interested in being a martyr, but it made me feel funny inside to go from being around impoverished people who felt blessed to get a pencil for school, to gorging myself. Luckily I sat next to some women who were interested in processing through the activity.
Though still overcast, our group took off to Pâo de Açucar (“Sugarloaf”) a mountain in town who was so named because sugar loaf pastries in Brazil had been made with a mold that was shaped like the mountain. We went up the first gondola and took some beautiful pictures on top of the first hill. But on the second gondola, my fear of heights took over. I couldn’t look out and at one point had to sit down on the floor. The conductor helped me in and out of the gondola and one of my students hugged me on the way up. I was all right and most people had a good laugh.
Our group went back to the hotel and Brooke and I met up again to go out. We caught a cab outside my hotel, and gave the address of a bar I pulled out of a Lonely Planet. When he dropped us off though, by a deserted street by a bus station, and told us to walk two blocks behind us, we decide to hail another cab and head to Lapa, the club and dance area of town. I gave the driver a new address, and he also didn’t take us to the right location, but did drop us off at a warehouse that had been converted to a trendy bar, Lapa 40. It was open air and a performer sang and played the guitar for us. We ordered some nibblies: filet mignon in a bread bowl and cheese fries with bacon. AMAZING. After being asked to join some Brazilian diplomats to a night of dancing, we left back to our hotels for a night of sleep.
Our last day in Rio was sunny and warm and we headed for Corcovado and Christo Rentor. We climbed in 4X4 jeeps and drove up through the Tijuca Forest. The Tijuca Forest is a completely reforested area that had been devastated by sugar and coffee plantations. There we saw blue butterflies and monkeys. From there we climbed the mountain by car, then vans, then by our feet up steps. And then, the statue, made up of soapstone opened up before us. Soapstone, a beautiful white and gray stone is found in Brazil and off the western shore of Africa. You may know that He stands over the city with His arms wide open, but you may not know that his heart stands out prominently from His breast (the names of the creators and their families etched into the heart) and that He was constructed to commemorate 100 years of independence from Portugal. People laid down and took cheesy photos of their friends with their arms wide open, including myself.
From here, we took a quick drive through the Santa Teresa district, one of the oldest districts in the city. It was picturesque, with colonial houses and yet the cement retaining walls were covered with incredible street art.
In our last moments in Rio, a few of us headed to the beach in Copacabana. I bought some red Havianas (a Brazilian flip flop) and sat on the beach and enjoyed some watermelon.
My last day in Salvador, September 11, 2008 was spent looking for small gifts for people, and some art. I’m hoping to purchase a piece of art and jewelry in each country. My hope is that these two areas will help me keep the countries I visit around me so that I may help facilitate my continued reflection. I bought a red bead necklace from a street vendor, simple but beautiful. I found two pieces of art: a small tablet of three women from Bahia dancing, and the other a much larger painting, of a Bahia/candomble woman dancing with a beautiful dress and head scarf. I am so lucky and blessed to be able to bring a piece of Brazil with me.
Well, I am sure you are tired of reading this tirade. I promise not to write this much in the future.
Pictures are coming, but I can only load three photos every hour. The internet situation is very difficult.
Much love
Angelica
It is early. We changed our clocks back an hour last night, the first of five over this week. It is anticipated that we will spring forward an hour the next four days. I anticipate that I will be really grumpy for the next four days. I do not do well with time changes.
I have not posted for the past few days because I have been in port, first in Salvador and then in Rio de Janeiro and then back to Salvador. I disembarked on September 7, 2008, mid-morning after most students had left the ship. Heather, Bill, and Margo (one of my residents) headed up to the old center of town. Our ship ported in the commercial port, not necessarily the nicest part of town, but nice enough during the day. Women in hoped dresses, with large headscarves, danced for us and tied ribbons on our wrists. Alan, the staff doctor from Wales, remarked, “
Are these used to show who are the gullible Americans?” I quickly took mine off. We were later told that it was not a good idea to let people give you “gifts” of ribbons, because soon after these merchants would attempt to put necklaces and other jewelry on you and then demand money.
A quick aside, a lot of the safety information provided focused on reducing mugging, managing drinking, not eating raw fruits and vegetables that could not be peeled, and not having ice. Though I thoroughly appreciated all the safety information, there were times where I worried that we were creating an adversarial relationship with the people of Salvador and Brazil. One student told me that they gathered from a professor’s comments that it was not if they were going to get mugged, but when. During the time in Brazil, several people were mugged some walking down the street, others while they were intoxicated. I don’t what the happy medium is. Did we give enough information? Did students not believe they would be targeted and not take the precautions that they should have? I don’t know, but I still find our safety tone problematic, one that does not emphasis cultural exchange and appreciation.
Our group was looking for a low-key day in Salvador, walking around rather than sightseeing. Salvador was essentially empty (at least of locals, not so much of SAS people) because it was Brazilian Independence Day. It was easier to see the city, but more difficult to get the pulse and feel of the city. It was also a little disappointing to see how overrun the city had become by Semester at Sea because every corner I turned I saw another group of students. Many of who were drinking a coconut with rum. The drinking had begun. And apparently we were expected, as merchants were passing out tickets for free drinks for Semester at Sea participants. I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m complaining, but I think it’s necessary to critique the experience of SAS as well as talk about how wonderful it is (which it truly is), to give an honest account.
After leaving the port, we walked down a street that unfortunately reeked of urine, as we headed to a large indoor market. The market was filled with clothes, art, jewelry, and other knick-knacks. As in most markets, it is important to haggle. The dance begins with asking “how much?”. Then, you give a lower price, which the merchant says is too low. More haggling continues, and then you walk away. Then you’re called back and a new price is agreed on. On this first day, I gathered information on prices to be used later.
To enter the Cidade Alta (the “upper city”) we had to take an elevator up. The city of Salvador is split into two parts, the Cidade Alta and Cidade Baixa, the upper and lower cities, due to the tectonic plates in the area. The historic area of the city is found in the upper portion, and this area has now been designated a UNESCO Historical Site. This has preserved the area for posterity, but it has also commercialized the area. Bill told me a story about a family that owned three homes in the Pelourinho (city center) and rented them out. The city then exercised eminent domain, took the homes and paid the family an amount that did not even allow them to have a home in a neighboring favela. And this behavior reduced the number of families in the area, and merchants propped up by the local government now populate these areas. Salvador is a gorgeous place, but at what price?
We walked around the city center, passing beautiful artwork and capoeira dancers performing in the streets. A sense of calm and serenity passed over me, and I could feel the stress of work melt away. Unfortunately, my debit card was not working – even though I had contacted my bank, they still put a fraud alert on it – so after searching in vain for a cash machine that would give me money, we headed for lunch. We sat down at a restaurant called Mama Bahia (Bahia is the state where Salvador is found) and lunched on moqueca (a seafood stew, with palm oil, coconut milk that has a thickness of a curry), feijão (a bean dish), fried cheese balls, and fried squash (much like French fries). It was phenomenal. Anyone who knows me knows I love food, and that food is the most important aspect of traveling.
What is wonderful about being in the tropics is tropical fruit. Guavas, pineapple, papaya, açai, and other fruits that don’t have anything but Brazilian names because they are only found there, were plentiful. After lunch, we walked down to Cubano, a sorbet shop, and I had an açai sorbet. Açai is a small berry that is so sensitive that it will spoil in a day if it is not frozen or made into a suco (juice). It has a deep plum purple color, with a tart and chocolate flavor. And it packs a nutritional punch.
We then headed to a café, so that Bill could enjoy strong, beautiful Brazilian coffee (the coffee on ship is universally despised). After which we headed back to the ship, as we were advised that staying in the area after dark was dangerous.
I was to meet my group for our trip to Rio de Janeiro at 0315 in the Union. It would have probably good idea to have gone to bed early and/or nap. But I was having none of that. I had instead signed up for a welcome reception that would run from 2000 to 2400. After a small dinner and some last minute packing for Rio, I headed to meet my bus. Our bus raced through the city, running red lights because, as my tour guide informed me, “there are no other cars on the street so it’s ok.” We arrived at a circus tent set up in the medium of the street, and entered to meet our Brazilian student peers. A capoeria group performed doing acrobatic moves in the area. Our students and staff were asked up to perform with the capoeria performers. Then a drum group took over and played samba music, with a man who held a large lace umbrella danced around. Finally, some circus performers juggled and did danced in the air with streamers, like Circ de Soile. Some of the circus performers were part of an arts organization that worked in favelas primarily to give children an opportunity to have activities outside of school and keep them out of drug issues that pervade these poor communities
What I have failed to talk about is that the high majority of the population in the area is of African descent. The Bahia state had a large slave population, and Brazil did not stop slavery until late in the 19th century. Though the majority, they are still the marginalized group, poor and populating the favelas. Like in U.S. urban areas with high numbers of students of color, public schools in Brazil provide poor education and more affluent students attend private primary and secondary schools. But, public higher education is free, and only reserved for the best and brightest of the nation. For those with less education, private, expensive higher education institutions exist. This cements that the masses stay poor and uneducated (i.e. the people of color, in particular those of African descent) and white, wealth, elites stay in power.
Though all the performers were of African descent, almost all of the Brazilian students were mestizo or white.
After the performances, the reception devolved into a college dance party, with the typical traits of drinking, dancing, and one-night hookups. I prayed for the bus to come soon.
I took the 2330 bus back to the ship and after arriving home I took a quick shower and slept for two and a half hours. My alarm startled me awake at 0300 and I threw on some clothes and headed to the Union to find my students. I was to head 40 students to, from, and around Rio, and they sat curled up in their chairs half asleep. Two students were missing from the group (would not arrive in time to leave to Rio with us, but joined us the next day) so chaos ensued until we decided to leave them. We took a quick trip to the airport, where I sat with one of the faculty members, Erika Patterson who was flying with us to Belo Horizonte. I commented to her, when we got through the security line, how different going through the security line was from the U.S. She remarked that unfortunately we’ve all become a suspect in the U.S. She also told me the tale of being a Canadian student studying in Cuba and how she was harassed so often going through Miami (at one point being put in isolation for several hours and questioned) that she finally decided to go through Ft. Lauderdale instead.
We took TAM airlines to Belo Horizante, and as people are settling into their seats, the flight attends pass out butterscotch candies, Yum! I passed out at some point, and then was awoken by “breakfast” which was a piece of toast in a wrapper (doesn’t that sound great!) and guava jelly. I ate the guava jelly. I proceeded to pass out again until we arrived in Belo Horizante. After deplaning, we headed to the waiting area, where most of the students passed out on the floor, backpacks under their heads. We were there for about two hours, and then we boarded our plane to Rio.
You may not know this, I certainly didn’t, but there is no river in Rio de Janeiro. The Portuguese, two years after settling at Salvador, sailed into the harbor that would become Rio de Janeiro. But instead of a harbor, the Portuguese thought it was a river (I guess they thought it would be in bad form to admit their mistake) and since it was January: Janeiro. I was very lucky to know Spanish as it was easy to converse with Brazilians, but most of the time I had to speak slowly, though they rarely did. So, though it might have been difficult at time to understand, it was easy to read.
When we landed in Rio, it was cloudy and rainy, and the grand city looked gray and sad. This was matched by the mood of many of my students who were exhausted and not more than a little bummed that it was not a sunny day. Though I had checked the weather forecast, I like them brought shorts, t-shirts and a sundress. My one pair of pants and sweater got more use than anticipated.
Instead of our anticipated itinerary for the day was lost due to the weather, and instead we had a full free day. I spent an hour tramping around for a bank, and finally found one that would take my card. When I returned to my hotel, which was located right across from the famed Copacabana beach, my friend Brooke was sitting in the lobby. She had walked from her hotel (she was leading the second group) to meet me. We had some pizza (recommended by my tour guide, but not very good) and then decided to walk around Ipanema. Ipanema is both the beach and the neighborhood near it. We sauntered around the area, looking into antique shops and this beautiful jewelry shop, Bijou Box. My only regret right now is not purchasing a necklace from there. Oh well. Brooke and I decided to get a drink, and stopped at an Irish pub. We indulged in pub fare and shared our life stories, and then headed back to our hotels by cab.
The sun goes down so early (5:45pm) because we’re near the Equator (Rio is just north of the Tropic of Capricorn), that it feels so late at 9pm. Of course, as I was walking in, my students were heading out.
The next morning we headed out for our service project at a Samba school for a local favela. I should probably explain what a favela is. To be honest, it reminds me a lot of a colonia in the U.S. It is an unincorporated part of the city, in Brazil, usually found within the urban centers right next to expensive neighborhoods, where there are no services, infrastructure, or police. These are areas that have high poverty and crime. We were told not to call them favelas, and I only do so now so that those who know of them understand what I am describing. The reason for not calling them a favela publicly is because it’s direct translation is “slum”. I’m sure none of us would want to be told on a regular basis that you live in a slum, and not figuratively, but actually a slum. What’s frightening is that at my hotel, one of the signs for tours/sightseeing around town actually advertised “slum tours”. This did not give me high expectations for what was about to happen.
Our group loaded up in air-conditioned charter buses and headed off to the school. My biggest concern about the situation was that we would essentially take pictures of poor people and it would be this bizarre voyeuristic experience.
When we arrived, we watched 10 year-old boys running soccer drills, showing off to the group. We then were showed another building of the facility, but I hung around in the back of the group talking to some of the boys, learning their names, and practicing Portuguese. I started handing out some pencils I brought, and the boys freaked out. One pencil from the U.S. Supreme Court in the shape of a gavel was of particular esteem and the one boy, Agusto, kept having it taken from him. They ran off and told their friends, and I soon had a gaggle of children asking for pencils. When I ran out I gave out stickers and mini kaleidoscopes. Two little girls, must have been 3 and 6, were told by their mother to give me a kiss on my cheek when I gave them Winnie the Pooh stickers. This was easily the best day ever.
We finished the day walking through classrooms talking to the teenagers, but our presence was very disruptive and they asked us to move on. One student, Jamie, really knew what this visit was about: interacting with students. I wish more people had given themselves up to meet people, instead of holding back and merely taking pictures. Brooke and I both talked about needing some set activity to really get students engaged.
After this, we decided to insult our experience by having an all you can eat Brazilian barbecue buffet. Don’t get me wrong it was delicious. And I’m not interested in being a martyr, but it made me feel funny inside to go from being around impoverished people who felt blessed to get a pencil for school, to gorging myself. Luckily I sat next to some women who were interested in processing through the activity.
Though still overcast, our group took off to Pâo de Açucar (“Sugarloaf”) a mountain in town who was so named because sugar loaf pastries in Brazil had been made with a mold that was shaped like the mountain. We went up the first gondola and took some beautiful pictures on top of the first hill. But on the second gondola, my fear of heights took over. I couldn’t look out and at one point had to sit down on the floor. The conductor helped me in and out of the gondola and one of my students hugged me on the way up. I was all right and most people had a good laugh.
Our group went back to the hotel and Brooke and I met up again to go out. We caught a cab outside my hotel, and gave the address of a bar I pulled out of a Lonely Planet. When he dropped us off though, by a deserted street by a bus station, and told us to walk two blocks behind us, we decide to hail another cab and head to Lapa, the club and dance area of town. I gave the driver a new address, and he also didn’t take us to the right location, but did drop us off at a warehouse that had been converted to a trendy bar, Lapa 40. It was open air and a performer sang and played the guitar for us. We ordered some nibblies: filet mignon in a bread bowl and cheese fries with bacon. AMAZING. After being asked to join some Brazilian diplomats to a night of dancing, we left back to our hotels for a night of sleep.
Our last day in Rio was sunny and warm and we headed for Corcovado and Christo Rentor. We climbed in 4X4 jeeps and drove up through the Tijuca Forest. The Tijuca Forest is a completely reforested area that had been devastated by sugar and coffee plantations. There we saw blue butterflies and monkeys. From there we climbed the mountain by car, then vans, then by our feet up steps. And then, the statue, made up of soapstone opened up before us. Soapstone, a beautiful white and gray stone is found in Brazil and off the western shore of Africa. You may know that He stands over the city with His arms wide open, but you may not know that his heart stands out prominently from His breast (the names of the creators and their families etched into the heart) and that He was constructed to commemorate 100 years of independence from Portugal. People laid down and took cheesy photos of their friends with their arms wide open, including myself.
From here, we took a quick drive through the Santa Teresa district, one of the oldest districts in the city. It was picturesque, with colonial houses and yet the cement retaining walls were covered with incredible street art.
In our last moments in Rio, a few of us headed to the beach in Copacabana. I bought some red Havianas (a Brazilian flip flop) and sat on the beach and enjoyed some watermelon.
My last day in Salvador, September 11, 2008 was spent looking for small gifts for people, and some art. I’m hoping to purchase a piece of art and jewelry in each country. My hope is that these two areas will help me keep the countries I visit around me so that I may help facilitate my continued reflection. I bought a red bead necklace from a street vendor, simple but beautiful. I found two pieces of art: a small tablet of three women from Bahia dancing, and the other a much larger painting, of a Bahia/candomble woman dancing with a beautiful dress and head scarf. I am so lucky and blessed to be able to bring a piece of Brazil with me.
Well, I am sure you are tired of reading this tirade. I promise not to write this much in the future.
Pictures are coming, but I can only load three photos every hour. The internet situation is very difficult.
Much love
Angelica
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Welcome to Brazil
The alarm sounded at 0500. My cabin was still dark and the blue glint of the dawn played on the walls. My desire to sleep almost over took me, but it was tossed aside by the stronger want, need to see the sunrise over Brazil. The shoreline is deceptive as it curves around, so what you think are islands are the other side of the harbor.
The lights and buildings of Salvador opened in front of us. The wind swept by our faces as we stood at the rails. Heather and Bill were already there when I arrived. Other students, with blankets and in their pajamas crowded at the front rails taking pictures, and sometimes hushed by the beauty of the area and the newness of the land.
The ship followed the southern coast of Salvador and the building stood impressively at the shore. Heather remarked that their shape and structure reminded her strongly of San Francisco. I can do nothing but concur. A small lighthouse jutted out from in front of this coast, blinking lightly at us. The Pilot (a small boat brings on a “pilot” who comes aboard the ship to pilot the ship into the harbor safely) boat road up close to us, and the pilot who was tethered to the front of the boat by a bright orange-red rope jumped on board to push us in. We took a large turn around some cargo ships and were pushed around by a small tugboat. As we entered the dock, small boat rowed out of our path.
At this point it began to rain, and I thought it appropriate to run in and shower before we passed out passports and our diplomatic meeting. The Living Learning Coordinators (like me!) were asked to help pass out the passports, but then the Brazilian officials decided instead of a doing face confirmation (that is having the student in front of them and checking it against the passport) they decided to stamp all the passports and have us hand them out to the students after they left. We agreed that as it is Brazilian Independence Day, they wanted to go home as soon as possible.
We had a quick diplomatic meeting, which was of little note, aside from the great job my Ambassadors did in providing a positive experience for Heather Marques, the US Consulate Agent.
I am now waiting to head out and experience Brazil, but I’ll let the rush of the students go first….
The lights and buildings of Salvador opened in front of us. The wind swept by our faces as we stood at the rails. Heather and Bill were already there when I arrived. Other students, with blankets and in their pajamas crowded at the front rails taking pictures, and sometimes hushed by the beauty of the area and the newness of the land.
The ship followed the southern coast of Salvador and the building stood impressively at the shore. Heather remarked that their shape and structure reminded her strongly of San Francisco. I can do nothing but concur. A small lighthouse jutted out from in front of this coast, blinking lightly at us. The Pilot (a small boat brings on a “pilot” who comes aboard the ship to pilot the ship into the harbor safely) boat road up close to us, and the pilot who was tethered to the front of the boat by a bright orange-red rope jumped on board to push us in. We took a large turn around some cargo ships and were pushed around by a small tugboat. As we entered the dock, small boat rowed out of our path.
At this point it began to rain, and I thought it appropriate to run in and shower before we passed out passports and our diplomatic meeting. The Living Learning Coordinators (like me!) were asked to help pass out the passports, but then the Brazilian officials decided instead of a doing face confirmation (that is having the student in front of them and checking it against the passport) they decided to stamp all the passports and have us hand them out to the students after they left. We agreed that as it is Brazilian Independence Day, they wanted to go home as soon as possible.
We had a quick diplomatic meeting, which was of little note, aside from the great job my Ambassadors did in providing a positive experience for Heather Marques, the US Consulate Agent.
I am now waiting to head out and experience Brazil, but I’ll let the rush of the students go first….
Neptune Day
For those who not know, Neptune Day is the day you cross from the Northern Hemisphere to the Southern Hemisphere. I wrote earlier that I was listening to an incredible sea story when the captain (who has very stylish orange glasses, and as quite attractive and dapper, but that may also be because he’s a captain…) sounded the horn on September 4th to signify that we had crossed the Equator. A collective cheer was heard in the Union, and apparently outside on the decks.
The next day, September 5th was a no class day, and the Neptune Day commenced. First, loud clanging and whistling was heard on the decks. Many of the crew, one of which is Jesse who cleans the Student Life/Living Learning Office, were dressed up in white tunic costumes with red decorations, red face paint, and helmets made of foil. They carried paper shields and cheered and called out. Students ran after then eagerly with cameras in hand and joined in singing and shouting. Then the festivities began in earnest at 0900. Deck 7 in the aft was packed; students were waiting excitedly with their cameras. A powerful and ominous voice was heard over the intercom commanding all students to head to the 7th Deck, and then the court came in. Armin Rosencranz, John O’Sullivan, and other professors filed in, in costume and regalia. Brooke Roberts (another LLC who is in charge of the Students of Service) announced that Bill Heinrich (another LLC and friend from my time at UCSC) had stated that he would shave his head if they reached $300 and his beard at $350; and that a professor John Zelinski offered to shave his head for $600. Brooke stated that by last night they had reached $596. But over breakfast she told Phil Zerzain (the Conduct Officer) that they had missed the mark, and so he donated $4.
Two students who had also purchased raffle tickets to get their heads shaved by the captain got their heads shaved first. For two hours Brooke, Nikki Brown (another LLC), and Becca (Field Office) cut and shaved heads. I chose to keep my hair.
Instead, I opted to become a shellback. Which meant getting fish water dumped on my head, get purified in the pool, kissing a fish, kissed a ring, and then was knighted. It was great, aside from the fishy/salty water.
The festivities lasted until noon and were followed by a lunch of fajitas, chips, beans, and chocolate cake. Anyone who knows me must know that I was in heaven. I had to large plates of food; very unlike me.
The rest of the day, for most students, was spent lounging around at the pool. As much as I love this experience, it is difficult to reconcile the resort like attitude that pervades the ship. The cabins and interior are beautiful. Someone comes in everyday to make your bed, changes your sheets when needed, and puts in clean towels. At all meals, some removes your plates and brings over refreshed drinks. And students, staff, and faculty can forget how privileged we are and how oppressive our behavior is. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by guilt and anger, and I haven’t yet found an outlet to express it, one that is effective and not self-serving. More growth and learning is need on my part.
The next day, September 5th was a no class day, and the Neptune Day commenced. First, loud clanging and whistling was heard on the decks. Many of the crew, one of which is Jesse who cleans the Student Life/Living Learning Office, were dressed up in white tunic costumes with red decorations, red face paint, and helmets made of foil. They carried paper shields and cheered and called out. Students ran after then eagerly with cameras in hand and joined in singing and shouting. Then the festivities began in earnest at 0900. Deck 7 in the aft was packed; students were waiting excitedly with their cameras. A powerful and ominous voice was heard over the intercom commanding all students to head to the 7th Deck, and then the court came in. Armin Rosencranz, John O’Sullivan, and other professors filed in, in costume and regalia. Brooke Roberts (another LLC who is in charge of the Students of Service) announced that Bill Heinrich (another LLC and friend from my time at UCSC) had stated that he would shave his head if they reached $300 and his beard at $350; and that a professor John Zelinski offered to shave his head for $600. Brooke stated that by last night they had reached $596. But over breakfast she told Phil Zerzain (the Conduct Officer) that they had missed the mark, and so he donated $4.
Two students who had also purchased raffle tickets to get their heads shaved by the captain got their heads shaved first. For two hours Brooke, Nikki Brown (another LLC), and Becca (Field Office) cut and shaved heads. I chose to keep my hair.
Instead, I opted to become a shellback. Which meant getting fish water dumped on my head, get purified in the pool, kissing a fish, kissed a ring, and then was knighted. It was great, aside from the fishy/salty water.
The festivities lasted until noon and were followed by a lunch of fajitas, chips, beans, and chocolate cake. Anyone who knows me must know that I was in heaven. I had to large plates of food; very unlike me.
The rest of the day, for most students, was spent lounging around at the pool. As much as I love this experience, it is difficult to reconcile the resort like attitude that pervades the ship. The cabins and interior are beautiful. Someone comes in everyday to make your bed, changes your sheets when needed, and puts in clean towels. At all meals, some removes your plates and brings over refreshed drinks. And students, staff, and faculty can forget how privileged we are and how oppressive our behavior is. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by guilt and anger, and I haven’t yet found an outlet to express it, one that is effective and not self-serving. More growth and learning is need on my part.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Crossing the Equator
As the light begins to dim on Thursday September 4th, so early as it is only 1745 (military time) we are nearing the Equator. It is extraordinary to think that we will cross from one hemisphere to another. It is one thing to do so in an airplane, it is quick, but in a ship, as many mariners before me, to cross in the wild blue sea, it is awe-inspiring. We are giddy knowing that this evening at 2030 we will finally cross over. The Captain will blow the horn to signify our entrance, our departure. Suddenly things feel different. I haven’t thought about it enough to really discuss it, but I can feel my chest swelling.
Days run by quickly here, mornings start around 0700 getting small amounts of work done before Global Studies (our core class that all participants including faculty and staff must attend). Then it is a little more time to work and then a long student life committee meeting. This is followed with more work other meetings and meals falling in here and there. Though busy, I cannot complain, we are almost at Brazil. Movies have played in loop about different aspects of Bahia and Salvadore. I am excited about visiting our port, and my trip to Rio de Janeiro.
I wish to write more, but I promised our interport student Natalia, that I would attend her Portuguese table. Will write later…
David Pe: Edgar and Allan both say hello and wish that the four of us had been on the summer voyage together…
Days run by quickly here, mornings start around 0700 getting small amounts of work done before Global Studies (our core class that all participants including faculty and staff must attend). Then it is a little more time to work and then a long student life committee meeting. This is followed with more work other meetings and meals falling in here and there. Though busy, I cannot complain, we are almost at Brazil. Movies have played in loop about different aspects of Bahia and Salvadore. I am excited about visiting our port, and my trip to Rio de Janeiro.
I wish to write more, but I promised our interport student Natalia, that I would attend her Portuguese table. Will write later…
David Pe: Edgar and Allan both say hello and wish that the four of us had been on the summer voyage together…
Monday, September 1, 2008
Skirting Around Venezuela, Guyana, Suriname, and French Guinea
My Gentle Readers
We are along the outer coast of South America on our way to Salvadore, Brazil and the water looks like a gentle pond that only dimples from its movement. Its electric blue color shimmers like pulled plastic as it moves subtly. Small flying fist run across the water in fan patterns, exploding from the sea and moving 10 to 15 feet over the water. They are barely noticeable; only their paths trace their existence. The ship rocks softly, teetering side to side like a slow see saw.
To think that when we depart this ship we will be in Brazil is surreal for most students and myself. People speak of surfing, kayaking, visiting schools and orphanages, and sleeping on decks of boats as they meander down the mighty Amazon. Most are anxious and a bit nervous about the prospects of landing in a new continent.
Two days ago, the first full day on ship for students, and a day of orientation, was particularly choppy. Students moved like pin balls from wall to wall, attempting to grab one handrail and being hurled into the opposite one. Lines formed around the restroom as students evacuated their stomachs of dinner meals. Oddly, the rough water doesn’t affect my stomach, but rather the gentle rocking unsettles my stomach.
Sometimes as I write my blog entries, it is difficult to know what objects and events should be described. Is it interesting to know that the Union (the largest room in the ship which houses the core courses “Global Studies”) is generally freezing, and that my fingers turn a frightening shade of indigo that alarms those sitting next to me? Or that some students continue to be on their cell phones on sea, but most have moved back to the simple communication of talking face to face. Unlike on land where we can text a location to meet up to someone, or a quick phone call to verify the location, people are generally asking others: “have you seen…?” Some of the communication barriers that we have created on land have been diminished on sea and we begin to behave like human beings again. Nonetheless, faces are firmly planted in laptops, and though most students have only 125 minutes of free internet, you find many Facebook pages open with people updating their profiles. Maybe we cannot escape the madness we’ve created. Or, about how I was awoken on Saturday night by the ship lights illuminating the ship wake and that I spent 20 minutes staring out of my window staring at its brightness and listening to the muffled tones of the water crashing on the ship’s side? Alas, you may have to listen to my ramblings, or just skip further down for the day’s itinerary.
Due to rough seas brought by the Hurricane Gustuv and Tropical Storm Hannah, which I am sure you have heard about, and attempting to outrun their possible negative ramifications on the ship we used more gas than expected and had to port at Puerto Rico. We have a double escort of U.S. Coast Guard as we entered the San Juan harbor. To our left was a forbidding fort that was quickly surpassed the numerous resorts on the waters edge and the other cruise ships that filled the harbor. Unbeknownst to the passengers, the ship had a surprise inspection and PA announcements rained down on us for a few hours in the morning. Phil, the Conduct Officer from Oregon, related that he was back to his birthplace for the first time in 48 years, and that he had not been back to San Juan, or Puerto Rico since his family left when he was three years old. This was particularly poignant since he had recently lost his father. He let me give him a hug after he told me this story.
Though we were unable to get off, it was still a beautiful view for breakfast and lunch. We left again in the later afternoon, which made most people happy since the Campus Store finally opened, and the rest of the night was filled with people and their new sweatshirts.
Being as yesterday, August 31, 2008, was Sunday, I held a Catholic mass for people on board. It was odd being the one to preside, but it was exciting and reinforced my belief that if I was male that I would have been a priest. I had a great outpouring of people at least 25 and more later stated that they would have attended if they had known about the service. Though we did not have the Eucharist or homily, we had people sign up to be lectors, people with religious music to play, someone with holy water and crosses, people who volunteered to speak for the homilies, and even request Eucharist when we are in Brazil. In 30 minutes we created a community of faith. The superlatives of amazing and awesome were finally used in their correct terms.
We capped yesterday with alcohol service, with students drinking beer or wine on the top deck by the pool, or enjoying an EANAB (Equally Attractive Non-Alcoholic Beverage, for those who did not attend Stanford). For the most part it was a lively but controlled event. I did have the pleasure of finding a student from my time at UC Santa Cruz.
Today was begun with a short elliptical workout and then with one of my Global Studies classes (on this voyage, unlike most, we have two sections of Global Studies). And as I finish up this entry, I must run again to a meeting.
Again I thank you again for reading my entries, and excuse if I am late again. We lose an hour tomorrow, so I may be a bit groggy.
As a postscript, we saw some whales and some nameless islands at lunch. What a sweet life...
We are along the outer coast of South America on our way to Salvadore, Brazil and the water looks like a gentle pond that only dimples from its movement. Its electric blue color shimmers like pulled plastic as it moves subtly. Small flying fist run across the water in fan patterns, exploding from the sea and moving 10 to 15 feet over the water. They are barely noticeable; only their paths trace their existence. The ship rocks softly, teetering side to side like a slow see saw.
To think that when we depart this ship we will be in Brazil is surreal for most students and myself. People speak of surfing, kayaking, visiting schools and orphanages, and sleeping on decks of boats as they meander down the mighty Amazon. Most are anxious and a bit nervous about the prospects of landing in a new continent.
Two days ago, the first full day on ship for students, and a day of orientation, was particularly choppy. Students moved like pin balls from wall to wall, attempting to grab one handrail and being hurled into the opposite one. Lines formed around the restroom as students evacuated their stomachs of dinner meals. Oddly, the rough water doesn’t affect my stomach, but rather the gentle rocking unsettles my stomach.
Sometimes as I write my blog entries, it is difficult to know what objects and events should be described. Is it interesting to know that the Union (the largest room in the ship which houses the core courses “Global Studies”) is generally freezing, and that my fingers turn a frightening shade of indigo that alarms those sitting next to me? Or that some students continue to be on their cell phones on sea, but most have moved back to the simple communication of talking face to face. Unlike on land where we can text a location to meet up to someone, or a quick phone call to verify the location, people are generally asking others: “have you seen…?” Some of the communication barriers that we have created on land have been diminished on sea and we begin to behave like human beings again. Nonetheless, faces are firmly planted in laptops, and though most students have only 125 minutes of free internet, you find many Facebook pages open with people updating their profiles. Maybe we cannot escape the madness we’ve created. Or, about how I was awoken on Saturday night by the ship lights illuminating the ship wake and that I spent 20 minutes staring out of my window staring at its brightness and listening to the muffled tones of the water crashing on the ship’s side? Alas, you may have to listen to my ramblings, or just skip further down for the day’s itinerary.
Due to rough seas brought by the Hurricane Gustuv and Tropical Storm Hannah, which I am sure you have heard about, and attempting to outrun their possible negative ramifications on the ship we used more gas than expected and had to port at Puerto Rico. We have a double escort of U.S. Coast Guard as we entered the San Juan harbor. To our left was a forbidding fort that was quickly surpassed the numerous resorts on the waters edge and the other cruise ships that filled the harbor. Unbeknownst to the passengers, the ship had a surprise inspection and PA announcements rained down on us for a few hours in the morning. Phil, the Conduct Officer from Oregon, related that he was back to his birthplace for the first time in 48 years, and that he had not been back to San Juan, or Puerto Rico since his family left when he was three years old. This was particularly poignant since he had recently lost his father. He let me give him a hug after he told me this story.
Though we were unable to get off, it was still a beautiful view for breakfast and lunch. We left again in the later afternoon, which made most people happy since the Campus Store finally opened, and the rest of the night was filled with people and their new sweatshirts.
Being as yesterday, August 31, 2008, was Sunday, I held a Catholic mass for people on board. It was odd being the one to preside, but it was exciting and reinforced my belief that if I was male that I would have been a priest. I had a great outpouring of people at least 25 and more later stated that they would have attended if they had known about the service. Though we did not have the Eucharist or homily, we had people sign up to be lectors, people with religious music to play, someone with holy water and crosses, people who volunteered to speak for the homilies, and even request Eucharist when we are in Brazil. In 30 minutes we created a community of faith. The superlatives of amazing and awesome were finally used in their correct terms.
We capped yesterday with alcohol service, with students drinking beer or wine on the top deck by the pool, or enjoying an EANAB (Equally Attractive Non-Alcoholic Beverage, for those who did not attend Stanford). For the most part it was a lively but controlled event. I did have the pleasure of finding a student from my time at UC Santa Cruz.
Today was begun with a short elliptical workout and then with one of my Global Studies classes (on this voyage, unlike most, we have two sections of Global Studies). And as I finish up this entry, I must run again to a meeting.
Again I thank you again for reading my entries, and excuse if I am late again. We lose an hour tomorrow, so I may be a bit groggy.
As a postscript, we saw some whales and some nameless islands at lunch. What a sweet life...
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