Lazy Days in Langkawi

Another wonderful day at sea, and another few minutes to blog and share my story with you all. Again, my undying thanks to you all for indulging me in my writing. And a special thanks to those of you who have posted comments to my blog (that means you Joy!). I love you all.

So, on the third day in Malaysia, Nikki and I took the 7am tender to the pier to catch our 8:30am ferry to Langkawi. Langkawi is said to be a top ten beach destination in the world, which surprised me after my visit. More on that later. We decided to order food in an alleyway where Malaysian workers grab their breakfasts. A man, and probably his wife, were cooking up roti, an eggy bread, that was cooked crepe style, and chicken and onion were thrown in, and it was foled up like a pocket. With that came a little vegetable soup that we drank and dipped our pocket into. We had Indian tea (we were told by Lakshman, the Malaysian man who helped us earlier, when we ordered tea to order “Indian tea”, and that it would be similar to the tea we had in India). The whole meal was perfect. I could feel my heart swell with happiness, and my belly felt warm and full. The tea, hot, milky, and sweet was extraordinary. Joe Chapman, an instructor on board, and his partner Julia joined us at the end, and we chatted about our experiences so far in Malaysia, and we learned that we would be taking the same ferry across. Joe, hospitably, paid for our breakfast and we headed off to our ferry.

After figuring out the ticket situation, we hurried on the ferry for our three-hour trip to Langkawi. Semester at Sea has spoiled me with their ships and boats. They are so elegant and pristine. Even our tender that was hot and sweaty was incredibly clean. As I walked the broken wooden gangplank on to the ferryboat, I realized that I wasn’t on Semester at Sea anymore. It was dirty, rusted over, and as I sat in my ferry seat, I saw a cockroach scuttle across the seat in front of me. Luggage was strewn about, and my backpack that was on the floor was wet. Eek! But aside from this, it was an easy ride over.

More interesting were the passengers. There were certainly Westerners, primarily Semester at Sea passengers, but there were tons of Muslim families with women in full burkas. I have never, ever seen a woman in a burka in real life. It was incredible to me. All I could see was a small sliver above their nose where their eyes shown from under the black material of their burkas. As this was the only parts of their bodies that I could see, aside from their hands, they stood out, stunning and shining. I couldn’t imagine wearing those dark robes, my body hidden from view, my senses stunted. At first I was in awe and shock, then I was angry and frustrated, then confused, and then curious. As a Westerner, I could not imagine covering my body in that way. It was hot and stifling, and wearing long pants and covering my chest and shoulders felt like a chore. And here were women, whether they chose or did not, wearing full-body clothing in black. I laughed at myself for thinking, “How do they vacation?” I was so lucky to see this: a normal life of a woman in an Islamist country. Their husbands played with them. Their children held them. This is real life. Again, how blessed am I?

After a bathroom break (did you know that there are prayer rooms in bathrooms here in Malaysia?), we grabbed a cab and headed to our hotel. I have been to Cabo San Lucas, Miami, and Cozumel. I know what resort towns look like. This was not one of them. It was not developed at all. It looked like a beach village that wanted to develop and thought better of it. The occasional hotel and restaurant would pop up, but more often it was jungle and an open-air cafés filled with locals. I loved it. We arrived at our hotel. Possibly because it catered to a Muslim clientele (it had an Arabic restaurant attached) we were one of the only Westerners, and most women had full burkas, and those who didn’t have headscarves.

It was pouring most of the day, so we headed to lunch, and had Indian food overlooking rice paddies. We then headed to have an Aryvedic massage. But when we arrived, Nikki was very suspicious of the establishment, no Indians there and they were unable to answer her questions. So in the rain we headed out to find another spa. We stopped at the “Thai Spa” and ordered Thai Herbal Massage. They had us go into a room with two tables and asked us to undress. Nikki and I plopped down for our massages. Two small Thai women entered. At first I felt her small hands on my body. Then I felt her straddle me. She was sitting on my behind massaging my back. Though surprised, I decided to take it in stride. It wasn’t as relaxing as anticipated, as the door was open the entire time, but the torrential rain outside calmed me and my muscles felt unburdened and supple.

We were taken back to the hotel, where I slept for a few hours; I was pretty exhausted. Later, Nikki hauled me out of bed and we headed for a night market. The night market mostly consisted of people selling food, both fresh and prepared, with occasional wears such as t-shirts and shoes. As we walked through, fried food and curry leaves filled the air. There were egg rolls, eggy pockets of potato and chicken, chicken satay, soy with syrup, and sauces in plastic baggies for quick take away. It was a delight of the senses. Three legs of beef, with the hooves still on, swung from ropes in the open, hot, and humid air. Tables of fresh vegetables lined the market. Bok choy, parsley, onions, star fruit, dragon fruit, and the smelly durian sat proudly in front of their vendors. It reminded me of the farmers’ markets in Santa Cruz and Austin. I thought how wonderful it is to buy food from the growers rather than a florescent-lighted store. There have been many times when I am reminded how U.S. citizens have been sanitized from life. We have been conditioned to live at arms length from the realities of life. We don’t see the meat that is killed for us. We don’t see sewage running through the streets, it goes off to a plant where we don’t have to deal with it. Etc., etc., etc. This is not to say that I don’t understand and appreciate the need for a hygienic life (let’s remember my issue about not wearing shoes where dogs were defecating). But at time it robs us of our humanity and how we can better appreciate our world, its people, and the environment. Okay, enough of the rant.

We picked up snacks, noodles, eggy pockets, egg rolls, etc. and had that for dinner. A little girl sitting across from me stared at me as if she could not understand someone that looked so different. There were zero Westerners except for us. After we finished up eating, I headed over to a convenience store to see what they had. After grabbing some colored pencils, I saw the candy. Holy Cow! There were bowl and bowls of candy. There were flavors Americans would see as “normal” like, grape, strawberry, chocolate, and orange. But then, there were flavors like: corn, tamarind, sour plum, lychee, black currant, and honey dew. How wonderful is this? I picked up more than 250 pieces, many of them will be used for our Trick or Treat event with the dependent children (i.e. the children of faculty and staff who are school age on this ship). And some may be making it to your mouths later. The ladies behind the counter thought I was crazy and giggled as they counted up the candy.

We headed back to the hotel shortly after the candy episode. Nikki and I both took showers and then combed each other’s hair, gave back massages, and watched a chick flick with Ashley Judd and Hugh Jackman. A great girls’ night.

The next day, after breakfast, we decided to hire a driver to take us around the island. We had anticipated that it would rain like the day before (we were wrong) so we never laid out on the beach. Boo! Instead we went to a craft market, where I went a little crazy on the batik stuff. It was so good! Then we headed out to see a waterfall. Stairs and I do not have a great relationship, and the stone staircase was a little precarious, but I made it to the top. Unfortunately we did not have our bathing suits on and were unable to jump in the water. After climbing down, we grabbed some food (not great ☹) and then headed to the ferry that was delayed. Our ferry ride back was a bit shorter than the former, but this time we had students who were actin’ a fool, which made the experience less than pleasant.

When we landed on shore, Nikki and I decided to call Lakshman since he had asked us to call when we returned. He told us to head for a restaurant in Little India and that he would meet us there. It was already 9pm. We arrived, and were bustled to the second floor, where we were asked to seat with the other Westerners in the restaurant, our friends Amy Lappen (one of the counselors) and Neal (another LLC). We ordered a vegetarian feast, where I supped on palak paneer (I cannot get enough of you!), aloo gobi, mushroom masala, and some tandoori vegetables, and of course, Indian tea and riata. With love, I scooped my food with my fingers, easily the best way of eating. At around 10:30pm Lakshman showed up. We hurried up our meal, he seemed anxious to leave. Nikki was concerned that he would want to hang out after dinner, with good reason, he did. I was exhausted, and nothing, not even offending someone could make me go out that evening. Nikki did, and she has a funny story, but I’ll tell you to go to her blog, and Amy L., Neal, I went home. And I slept.

The next day, I took the 9am tender to head to mass will Bill, Heather, and Brook from the Field Office. We negotiated the bus system (incredibly easy) and arrived at Our Lady of Assumption. Unfortunately, mass had started at 8:30am and the next mass was not for more than an hour. So we had some coffee and hot chocolate, and headed off to the E&O for some brunch. After brunch, I proceeded to take the hot and sticky tender back to the ship, where a water snake attempted to board the ship with us, and so ended my time in Malaysia.

The Monkeys and Me

Gentle Readers:

As time on this journey slips away, the intensity of our voyage picks up. Before, we had long stretches to write, reflect, rest, and recuperate from our last port. Now we move from port to port with two to three days in between. I will do my best to keep up with my blog. And maybe, someday, actually put pictures up. So I beg your pardon and your indulgence.

Malaysia was a country where I had little expectations. It’s sad to admit that I knew little about the country I was going to visit. I had an idea of where it was, near Thailand I thought. I knew that it had a strong Muslim influence. I knew it had been colonized, much like the other countries in the area, by both European and Asian powers. I knew that many cultures lived in the area, with Malay, Indian, and Chinese making up the majority. And names like Penang and Borneo sounded majestic a sense of wonderment filled my heart. But yet, I knew so little. Going to class, talking to the interport student, and even reading about it still left me with a lot of doubt of my own understanding. Countries like India, China, South Africa, Brazil, these countries as Americans, we know if not well, well enough to wrap our heads around them. But smaller countries, with less of an economic and political presence, are left behind and undiscovered. Luckily, I was going to be in this country, allowing its majesty wash over me.

I was up late the night before we arrived and thus I decided to sleep-in instead of watch our entrance into the harbor. When I awoke, we were anchored in the harbor; the piers are not large enough to accommodate our large berth. Our pier was located in Georgetown, the old colonial English part of town. Out in the distance, the modern Penang of high rises sat like pearls on the shore. Unlike when we dock on the pier and we take the gang-plank from the ship to the dock, here we had to be tendered on to land. That is, we are taken in smaller boats (in this case our lifeboats) from the ship to shore. After passing out passports (which were thankfully stamped), I threw on some appropriate clothes (chest covered, pants past my knees, etc.) grabbed a raincoat, and ran to catch the 11am tender. I was helped, okay more like heaved on the boat as it rocked violently in the harbor. Nikki (one of the LLCs) and Brooke (from the Field Office) joined me on the expedition. We had no plan or purpose, and walked along a busy street trying to find a place to have lunch. Interesting note, sidewalks seem to be a Western construction. They barely existed in India, and are barely more visible in Malaysia. No matter, I enjoy walking in the street; must be the Mexican in me.

Brooke finally pulled the map out, anxious to push us in a direction, and we headed towards Little India (Nikki is obsessed with India) and had lunch. Afterward a slightly disappointing lunch (good Indian food, but not great) we walked around the neighborhood admiring the decorations for the festival Deepavali, or Divali the “festival of lights” that starts Monday, a day after we left. We went to a drug store where I bought some conditioner (mine is almost finished, yikes!), and I spied skinning whitening cream (or as they put it, “skin fairing cream”, chew on that normative statement. There where at least six different brands: Light & Lovely, Light & Handsome, Ponds, Olay, etc. It was disgusting and angering. But as your skin color is a demarcation of class (i.e. the darker you are the more likely that you work in the fields, outdoors, manual labor, etc.) having light skin is seen as a virtue.

From there I spied a clothing store and sauntered over. I spent almost no money in India, and really wanted clothes and fabric. In Vietnam, it’s possible to have beautiful clothing made for a fraction of what they would cost in the U.S. I walked over to the wedding saris; they were gorgeous. I almost wish I could get married in that fabric rather than a white wedding dress. There were beautiful reds with gold inlay, bright turquoise with silver inlay, etc. But they all cost about $300, and as much as I wanted it, it was silly to buy them. But, the shopkeepers showed me other sari fabric that was considerably reduced. From this I selected a beautiful purple, with silver and gold trim and decoration. It was gorgeous. I bought it and took it to a tailor next door and will have it ready on Saturday. Even though I'm not Indian, I think it will be beautiful to wear out. It's apparently a very nice sari, one for special occasions, so I'm excited. Later, since I was going to be away from Penang, I sent Brooke out to pick up some red sari material, which again, was absolutely gorgeous. I will be making a dress out of that one.

After my shopping, we headed towards a walking tour in old town Georgetown. On our way we passed some stunning Buddhists temples. In front they had these large incense sticks, taller than me (yes, I know, that's not very tall), at least two inches in diameter. We wandered on and reached the waterfront. Nikki jumped over a rock wall to touch the Indian Ocean for the first time, but couldn't reach it because it would have been too difficult and dangerous. So she settled for some cool pictures. After a short walk we headed to the bank to take out currency when it began to pour rain. We walked to the post office to find that they had closed. I had my raincoat on, but my pants were soaked. We thought about going back to the ship and then returning to meet our friends for dinner, but decided against it and instead took ourselves back to the walking tour. We past the city hall, the town hall, the supreme court, the city museum, and the first Catholic church of the city. We ended the tour at the Eastern & Oriental Hotel, a beautiful British style hotel on the waterfront. After having a quick drink, we headed into the dinner buffet: an Asian feast. I had sashimi, fried ostrich, and egg rolls. But of course, dessert was my favorite course. I had small chocolate brownies, cheesecake, fruit tarts, and a banana dumpling. What a great way to end the day.

The next day, I took the 11am tender for Penang. Brooke and Nikki, and I decided to do a tour of the island. We hired a cab (easily the best thing I have learned to do when visiting a country, hire a driver for the day to take you everywhere, although I do miss the independence of using public transportation) to drive us around the island. He suggested that we go visit two Buddhist temples. The first, was a Thai temple, vibrant in the colors of red, yellow, and blue. We removed our shoes and placed them by a sign that said "beware of shoe thieves!". We took our chances. This temple has the third largest reclining Buddha in the world. It was incredible. The statue’s eyes and toenails were decorated with sea shells and glimmered in the sunlight. We took the obligatory photos and walked around looking at urns of people who died in 1919. One of the men who worked there told me that I was born in the year of the Horse and took me to the Buddha of the Horse. He told me to pray and I put my hands together. Then he said I needed to put my left hand on the Buddha and my right hand on my heart. He helped me, and I'm not sure if he was helping me, or being a creepy old man, because he cupped my breast. I thanked him for his help and then ran off. We then went across the street, literally across the street, to a Burmese temple. We entered an arcade that lead to a seated Buddha. I then went across to another temple with a standing, enormous statue of Buddha. Around the temple was incredible wooden filigree work. Behind the Buddha were 13 Buddha statues from different countries: Burma (Myanmar), Malaysia, Thailand, Korea, Bangladesh, Afghanistan, China, Pakistan, India, Vietnam, Japan, Laos, and Cambodia. I didn’t realize this, but the Buddha has elongated earlobes because when he was a prince he wore extravagant jewelry that elongated his ears.

After this peaceful visit, which included a koi pond. We headed to Penang Hill. It is the tallest summit in the city. We exited of our taxi and entered a jeep. It felt like we went straight up and were glad we made the choice to take the jeep rather than hike. The views from the top were spectacular, and we visited a Hindu temple and sat outside a mosque. Everyday I am blessed at what I get to see. Doesn't this sound amazing? And I didn't know most of this was going to happen. We headed down the hill to stare at some monkeys and walk around the botanical gardens. A bride was taking pictures in the park, and we followed her into the rain forest. Black butterflies six inches across flew speedily from flower. They were both lovely and grotesque. After a quick saunter, we joined our driver who took us to have Malaysian food. As always, the food was incredible. I had a tandoori chicken breast and curry cabbage over rice. An Indian man, named Lakshman, whose family was originally Chennai, helped us in the selection of the food. He was excited to meet us since he was a language teacher in town. He invited us to have him chauffer us around in the evening. Brooke and Nikki planned on meeting him; I could not because I'm on duty. After lunch, we bought postcard stamps and wandered around Chinatown. Nikki got a reflexology massage and then we walked to Little India. I thought about buying sari material, and Brooke offered to buy it for me the next day because I waivered then was upset that I didn't buy it. It’s this gorgeous cherry red silk with a silver inlay, so wonderful.

In my next post I’ll talk about my two days in Langkawi and my final day in Malaysia. Right now we are going through the Straits of Malaca, on our way to Vietnam. It’s a pirate area, so we are currently on “pirate watch” which is exciting. Additionally, there have been hundreds of ships and boats on the water with us, which is incredible. Usually we’re by ourselves, and to see others is pretty amazing.

Hope you all are well!
Much Love
Angelica

Meeting God in India

“Love that is not madness is not love.” -- Pedro Calderon de la Barca


It’s the night of my second day in Malaysia and I’m on duty. So, I’m hanging out on the ship, which is a-okay with me. My foot is tired, so I’m laying on my bed with my foot up. I just had some short conversations with people at home, and feel content and happy. So I’m going to write my last blog for Chennai, India.

I had arrived especially early on the second to last day in Chennai, and there was no way I was getting up before 10am. I hauled myself out of bed to meet up with the Amys and Nikki for a day of shopping. After a late start, we grabbed a small van (and I mean small) we headed out for lunch. During our diplomatic briefing, the U.S. diplomats stated that a great place to have a meal would be at a Taj hotel. So we headed over, with reminders from Amy Lappen (one of the counselors) not to have high expectations since she had had dinner at a “hotel” a few nights before. But when we entered the hotel, we had no illusions that we were at a really nice place. It was a gorgeous hotel, beautiful restaurant, and very nice toilets. We had fried wontons, samosas, and a selection of breads for an appetizer. We had a curry, palak paneer, and a charcoal chicken dish for our mains. It was all okay, except the charcoal chicken which was on the best dishes I had in India (which you wouldn’t have expected because it came out BLACK. But it was great!), and we were reminded that the best food comes from roadside stands, not fancy restaurants. After a long lunch, we piled back into the van, and danced to modern Indian music with our driver Raj. All around Chennai, we kept seeing billboards and other advertisements with this same chubby, mustached man. We learned that he had been a Bollywood (Hindi movie industry larger than Hollywood) movie star and was campaigning to be governor. The place was going nuts. Raj took us to the Pondy Bazaar, where we picked up cheap items like bangles, grocery bags, and after being followed for over an hour a drum. We couldn’t stay too late, because we had to meet others for dinner: me with Cindy and her husband Jim and Nikki and Amy Lappen with Nikki’s pen-pal Annan.

I changed, found Cindy and Jim, and we grabbed a cab to a restaurant recommended by one of the interport students. After some drinks in the bar, we headed upstairs to have dinner. I had my own bowl of riata (still the best dish ever made, in the whole wide world), some chicken tikka masala, naan, and rice. Again, life could not have been better. We were the only Westerners in the joint, and around 9pm many Indian families started pouring in. It was a great atmosphere, matched by the quality of the food. Again, the meal conversation was populated by comments about food, the current dishes and other favorites. I stated that my mother’s papas con weenies was easily the best dish (outside of riata) Jim thought that his “white meal” of potatoes, cheese, cream, and other white ingredients was the best. After we finished our meal, we headed out to the discothèque.

Neal (one the LLCs) and I want to do an around the world best discothèques. After our Cape de Cuba night, we decided that we would start in Miami, then to Ibiza, St. Petersburg, Dubai, Narobi, and then Macau. Who knew that we would add Chennai to the list? We met Amy L, Neal, Nikki, her friend Annan, and one of his friends (whose name escapes me) at Pasha at the Park hotel. It was a very exclusive club, with a $20 cover charge, and we couldn’t bring our cameras in. As the only Westerners, we decided to get up and dance around, much to the delight of Annan. After a while, more Indians joined us and the place was rocking. Unfortunately, a creepy guy, dubbed “The Creeper”, fixated on me and tried to dance provocatively with me. I kept trying to move to the inner circle, and get behind someone to shield myself from him, but it went on for two hours. On the ship, there’s a student named Mason, who “creeps” people. That is, a move where he bends over, has one leg askew, slackens one arm, shakes his shoulder, and gives you a dirty look. It’s fantastic! So, whenever this guy came up to me, Amy and Nikki would give him the creep. Annan was beside himself with laughter. Soon the dance floor was packed and the witching-hour of midnight creped up to us. I was exhausted and was excited to go home. As we walked out, two very beautiful and handsomely dressed women in Western clothing passed us. Annan’s friend became very excited and agitated. Apparently they were famous movie stars.

We were shuffled into a rickshaw that drove us back to the ship. The city was quiet: it was 12:30am. As we drove back, we saw the sidewalks filled with people sleeping. Line after line of people sleeping on the sidewalks, dirt, and streets. It was silent, Amy and Neal were also exhausted, and the general chaos of the daytime was gone. All I saw was the rawness of poverty. The juxtaposition of being at a very posh upscale club, to seeing the reality of destitute poverty was angering, frustrating, and guilt inducing. I was quiet with shock, my chest felt tight, and I held back the tears that were welling up in my eyes. Poverty in India is a poverty that cannot be explained. It is pervasive and shockingly present in everyday life. That was my last impression of Chennai that day, and I sat on my bed (after waiting behind three Taj trips that had just arrived and an acid rain that fell and lifted up the oil and muck off the pier) thinking about the surreality of my time in Chennai.

The next day, again bright and early, I joined Brooke Cashman (from the Field Office) to mass at the St. Thomas Cathedral. St. Thomas, the Doubter who said “My Lord My God”, traveled to India and was martyred in Chennai. The St. Thomas Cathedral is one of only three churches in the world to be built on the tomb of an apostle of Jesus: St. Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican and the Cathedral of Santiago (St. James) de Compostela in Spain. I’ve been blessed to have attended mass in many countries, Mexico, Canada, Italy (at the Vatican), Germany, France, Holland, Spain, and Namibia. I added India to this list. All countries have their own flavor to the mass, making it a place for the people. After visiting the cathedral and the museum, we went down to the tomb. Mass, in Tamil (the language used in Chennai) started shortly after we arrived. Brooke wanted to sit on the left side of the chapel, but I moved her to the left after I noticed that only men were sitting on the left and women populated the right. In India, often men sit in a different location than women. The entire mass was in Tamil, but as Catholics follow a proscribed Order of the Mass, it was easy to follow and participate in prayers. I had my missal and perused the readings. When the “Peace Be With You” came up, instead of shaking hands (a Western ritual) we instead put our hands together near our chest and bowed and said peace. At the end of mass, we were anointed with oil, and it was waxy and had a distinctive coconut smell. How wonderfully Indian. The priest came to speak to us after mass, and informed us that he use to teach at Georgetown, where Brooke currently works. Some high school students came up to us to talk to us and we exchanged emails and chatted about our experience in India.

We grabbed a rickshaw back to the ship and due to the political rally for the aforementioned movie star turned politician (we were reminded of our own history when Indians told us, “you know like Regan and Swarzenegger”) I was not able to do any shopping. So, in total, I spent $40 in India. Isn’t that insane?! I remind people that this means that the people who live in this country are poor, and how “wonderful” it might be for us to not have to spend a lot of money on objects, that it’s still A LOT of money to the inhabitants of the country. That doesn’t always go over well.

Well, that was my time in India. It was overwhelming and amazing; tragic and transcendental. I was reminded of Pedro Calderon de la Barca’s quote: “Love that is not madness is not love” and I believe that India is the embodiment of this quote. It was madness, the chaotic life on the streets, the horns honking every second, the abundance of people, the poverty, the colors of saris, of the kindness of every single person, of the early mornings and late evenings, it was all madness. But it was also love, pure, unadulterated, immense, and overwhelming, it was love. India, you wanted to wash it off, and let if wash over you. No port made such an impression. Two days ago the Assistant Executive Dean, Bob, read a speech where he compared the journey in India to the travels of Odysseus: of his trials and tribulations and finally coming back to his home, naked. And at the end Bob wept from the sheer emotion of being in such a tough and beautiful country. How could that country not make you cry? Exhaustion, the number of people, and the grime made you in raw. Only at this point, like Odysseus, could we learn and be reborn. How very apropos for a country of Hindus and reincarnation…

Doing the Head Bob in Erode

As I prepare to head out on to the gangway to help embarkation of most of the ship from Chennai, I reminisce about my time here in India. After my first hectic day in Chennai, I headed out that evening to Erode, a city in Southern India, by overnight train. I was not trip leader for our homestay, and I sat back with Amy Lappen, as Nikki and Paul took the lead. After a quick (though maze like drive) to the train station, we pushed our way through the hoards of people coming in and out of the station. We found our train and boarded. Our group of four staff members and 28 students found our sleeper beds, mostly slots of four beds in a nook, while two rows of beds lined the outer wall. Amy and I swapped with a student, Norah (also a Longhorn) so that we could chat. After some girl talk, and being a bit worried about the cleanliness of the sheets and blankets, Amy fell asleep, but I just laid in the bed tossing and turning, walking up in fits of an hour. By the time 6am rolled around, I was up, preparing to alight from the train. The students rolled out of the train, all yawns but no complaints. After finding the toilets, we headed out to find our buses. Nikki took her group of 12 to a townhouse in the city, while the rest of us headed to a farmhouse in a local village, Jayaramapuram, named after the host family.

Our bus meandered through the streets, still chaotic but it had a distinctive village feel. Streets feel off at the curb, the sidewalks were dirt, and buildings looked on their last legs. But everyone smiled at as, and looked awestruck at the Americans driving around their streets. We arrived at our farmhouse a few minutes after 7am and after freshening up, we say under an arcade in the middle of the house sipping coffee and tea. Poruni, the daughter-in-law of the hosts, served as our primary host and guide in the village. She was a statuesque woman, with shoulder length hair pinned back on the top and wore the long tunic and pants commonly worn by modern women who chose to wear Indian dress rather than Western. She spoke to Amy and I about American politics and education. She worked as a psychologist in particular with students with special needs. She acknowledged failings in her country and also politely pointed out failings in our own system. After we finished our coffee, she took us on a walk around her parents home. It had been erected 70 years earlier, and the family had lived on that land for over 200 years. The home had been built with intentional symmetry. The front door opened into the dining room, a large spacious and sparsely decorated room, with nothing but a large table where serving wear would appear at meal times. Attached to it was the kitchen, filled with servants preparing the meals at most times of the day. The front door had a mirror doorway across that opened into a patio and then the arcade. The arcade was shaped in a cross, with the larger leg running from the kitchen to a back room. The shorter ran from two bedrooms. The host family’s room was on the left, ours on the right. That room was cut in three, with the middle space acting as a long sitting room (this is where eight mattresses were laid out) and two small bedrooms with their own bathrooms at the ends. It may seem odd to talk about this home in such detail, but it was stunning in its utilitarianess and sparcity (apologies for the made up words). Past the host family’s rooms were the rooms for the servants, storage rooms for grains, sandalwood, other provisions, and a sanctuary where the family had up a number of icons to their gods. It was pitch dark, and pictures, statues, candles, lanterns, and offering sat at the back wall. With a flashlight Purni showed us their room and the brief history of her religion. She pointed out a picture of the family deity, which is almost always a goddess since she is the protector of the home. It was extraordinary to have this prayer room in the house, always present with their faith.

We walked back to kitchen and we caught a glimpse of an elderly woman, dressed up in little more than a white sheet that barely covered her front and legs. We had seen her earlier, peering from the dining room. The doorway was imposing above her small, dark frame, and her white hair shined as brightly as her stark white outfit. She was in her seventies and spry, and had been with the family for over fifty years. She was the family. She stood with the hulls of chestnuts, and they were bright red in the basket. They are used as medicinal remedies.

After the house tour, we headed out into the farm on the property. I sprayed DEET (45) on my arms, legs, feet, and pants. What I learned later is that DEET doesn’t like nail polish, and it melted it off my toenails and onto my socks. The host family had a coconut farm on their property, and we watched coconut cutters, climb the trees with easy and slice them off. The wrap leather belts around their waists and the trees, encircle their feet/ankles with a leather strap, straddle the tree with the insteps of their feet, and leap up the trees to cut coconuts down with a small scimitar. I haven’t stated this before, but everyone in India is tiny: short and tiny (with some exceptions of course). These men where shorter than me, wearing little more than short-like pants. Some students tried to scamper up, some with more success than others. I drank from a coconut and then scooped some of the meat out. Nifty fact: coconut milk can be used intravenously since it has never had contact to the outside air and has similar characteristics to plasma.

We then went to a coconut “factory” (really machines on a property) where people heaved coconuts and their fibers into different machines to remove coconut fibers from the shells and then refine them to be used in doormats and rope. The coconut shells were used as mulch and lock in moisture for coconut trees. After the refining, they fibers where then baled. Women whose husbands, and even themselves, worked at the factory watched us from their little homes that sat next to the machines. We drove to another factor where rope was being made. Young men and boys helped their fathers spin and twist the rope. It was there that it hit me. These kids were working. I pointed this out to someone and they dismissed my concern by saying “oh these kids are just helping out, this isn’t child labor”. But isn’t that what it is? These kids aren’t going to school. This is what they are going to be doing. They aren’t playing around or doing chores. These children are working to help their families have money. What I found so problematic about the whole thing was that I didn’t notice. I glazed over these beautiful children with their bright white smiles and their desire to help and stand next to me. I could feel the pit of my stomach and wonder how much I would see.

After the coconut factories, we headed over to see how sugar was made. Sugar cane was pulped and mashed. Then it was boiled in bowls 10 feet in diameter. A sugary steam filled the tiny hut we were in. It was sickly sweet, and the sugar sauna became nauseating. But the workers, and their tiny children, sat there, mixing the boiling sugar. After it boiled, it was tipped into vats where it was pushed around with paddle brooms until it thickened. After it dried and hardened it was molded into pear shaped mounds. And who would have known, sugar is yellow. We were told that this was pure sugar, with a bit of baking soda. And this sugar was pure glucose, unlike the refined sugar we tend to eat.

We reboarded the buses and drove a little ways to a rice paddy. Several students rolled up their pants and jumped into the paddy to plant rice with the local women. The ladies stood in the water with their bright colored saris, amused at the Americans reacting their backbreaking work. Stomachs were groaning at this point, and we headed home for a traditional lunch. We sat on the concrete floor of the dining room with a banana leaf in front of us. The servants walked around offering naan, riata, rice, savor and sweet dishes, bananas, and soup, all of which, except the soup, was put on the banana leaf. With our hands and naan we scooped up the delectable food. Indians believe that there is great energy that emanates from our hands, and instead of that energy going into a utensil, it goes into the food and back into our bodies. I have to say I loved eating with my hand (just the right one), with my fingers smelling of curry and my nails stained from the palak paneer. It was heaven.

After a heavenly nap on my floor mattress, we headed to the village. We interrupted a one -room school. The students came running out, excited to see us, some shy other unabashed in their desire to talk to us and take pictures. They surrounded the students, and overtook me when they realized that I had stickers and pencils. Everywhere we went we were celebrities and everyone wanted our email addresses and to take pictures with us.

After the school, we left for a local market. Nightfall was upon us, and we walked into a space with little tents and a dirt floor. Locals were buying fruit, spices, clothes, and dishware. People stopped to stare as these white strangely dressed individuals entered the market. I can remember the smell of curry, people, grime, etc. and it was fantastic! We loitered for a bit longer, made purchases, and then headed back to the farmhouse. After another exquisite meal, this time on stainless steel trays, we headed out to see a drum group. Men stood over a fire, heating the skins of their drums, and tying bells to their feet. They danced around in a circle and played their drums for us. We were then asked to dance with them, and I spun and twirled, exhilaration in my veins. How was it possible to have a day such as this? As we were heading to bed, Purni asked me and others to sign a book. I looked at other entries of thanks and well wishes. I started mine saying: “Have you ever thought, ‘this is the best day of my life, it couldn’t possibly get better’ and then every day following is better than before? That is what my time has been here.” Every moment of my time at their home was incredible, to the point of unbelieveability. I took a bucket shower, and readied for bed, writing in my journal, then the power went out. And that was the end of my first night in Erode.

We woke early the next day, had a quick breakfast, and said good-bye to our gracious hosts.
The buses took us back into town, and we headed to a school. We met up with the townhouse group who had a similarly amazing time on their stay. At the school we had a quick breakfast where we met with some students and teachers. Two teachers, one a social studies teacher another who taught English joined us on our tour for the day. Our first trip was a to a roadside temple. We were showed a tree that women would walk by if they were trying to get pregnant; it has special properties. After this we were shuffled to a larger temple. This one had multiple temples in one area. All this time we are barefoot. People lived on the temple land, washed themselves and their clothes in the river nearby, food was sold and their remains thrown on the ground, dogs ran around and defecated. I try to check my Americanism as much as possible on this journey, but I still could not get over the health issue of having bare feet there. We were shuffled through temples where we received bindis (third eyes) right above the bridges of our noses, we pulled energy from small flames with our hands to our bindis, and clapped so that the blind god would hear us. Later I gave a small donation to the blessing elephant, which promptly blessed me by tapping me in the back of the head with his large trunk. On our walk back to the bus we were flocked by a number of beggars asking for a rupee, essentially two cents. There were children, men with no legs, other people with disabilities and deformities. This is incredibly difficult to talk about for a number of reasons. Most of the time, when people begged, we walked by them. If we were in classrooms (i.e. a controlled an environment) we were bombarded if we pulled out a sticker or a pencil. In the streets it was chaos. As one of my friends later remarked, “did I just brush off a UNICEF kid who was asking for a penny?” It was a constant dilemma. Why this is so difficult to talk about is that I don’t want to dismiss our inability to help and falling back into a stance where we try to get away from the problem. But if you attempted to help it was a mob. It was a no-win situation.

From here we went to a center/school for students with physical disabilities. Most of these children were affected by polio, which blows my mind. Knowing that diseases, all but eradicated in the U.S., exist in other parts of the world is not new or stunning, but to see it close up, to see the numbers of people affected, not one or two or a hundred or a thousand, but tens of thousands if not more, it is beyond belief. Many of these children had curved backs, prosthetics, and shoes with lifts. When we arrived, we had flowers pinned in our hair; bindis in red and orange placed on our foreheads, and marched in like royalty. Students sat on the ground in rows and stared at us in disbelief. Some of the male students had their faces and bodies painted and danced to music in a production that had something to do with cannibals and a boy who escapes the boiling pot. After which we were asked to come to the front and sing. First we sang “I’m a little tea pot”, dance and all. We received puzzled looks from the crowd. Then came the Star Spangled Banner. Students and staff actually began to cry. They couldn’t believe that as U.S. citizens they were in a country far away from theirs singing their national anthem. It was overwhelming.

Sorry I say overwhelming a lot, but if you were in India you would get it. You would get that it feels impossible to get over using superlatives. This nation exudes them.

After a short visit with the students, we headed back to the first school to meet with more students. I took a short nap after lunch on a green metal bunk bed, and loved every minute of it. I woke up others who were sleeping, and we headed over to the auditorium for a presentation. Two male students spoke, in perfect English, about how lucky they were to have us there and about India. Then two groups of students, one male and one female came and danced. The young women had saris on and danced a semi-traditional/semi-modern dance. It was gorgeous. The young men though blew the roof off. The danced to a mix of hip-hop, techno, and bangra. It was incredible. They kicked and posed and just looked so cool. Then they wanted us to perform. We were frozen. One student suggested the electric slide, which we did and then evolved into the Macarena, and then we sang the Star Spangled Banner. We were not so cool. But we received thunderous applause. We were again shuttled off to visit a medicine factory, but our guides realized that our train ride had been changed and that we would be leaving earlier. After a long wait on the side of the road, they decided to drive back to the school so that we could have a quick dinner. I went upstairs to clean off and saw the female dormitory. There were small walls no higher than a meter that separated the beds and a small desk. Each girl had about 4 x 9 feet space. It was extraordinary. Two young women stopped us to ask us what we thought of India. We told them how blessed we were to be there, how much we loved it, and how sad we would be to leave. From that, we received the head bob. In India, sort of how we nod our heads when people talk, they bob their heads side to side. By the end of the trip I was doing it.

After yet another fantastic meal (have I raved about the food enough here???) we drove to the train station. I took of my socks, they were brown and black from the dirt and grime, red from the nail polish that had melted on to my socks, and foul smelling. I wrapped up my feet in a sheet because the smelled so badly. I covered my face with a sheet and fell asleep. I only heard later that cockroaches and mice had been seen scurrying around the train cars. We were all lucky I didn’t see them, it saved us some screaming. We arrived in Chennai at 4:30am, and I made it back to my room at 5:30am, where I showered and scrubbed my feet.

During the trip students would say: “Erode, the best trip you didn’t go on.” It is easily the best trip I have been on, and the most powerful and gut-wrenching. Again, how lucky am I?

India: Love is Madness

Though I have yet to write about the second half of the my time in Cape Town, and about Sea Olympics and other things that happened on the stretch from South Africa to India, I decided that between now and dinner that I would get writing about my first day in India. I woke up at 7am, showered, and headed up to the front of Deck 7. Unlike our dark entrance to Salvador, our foggy secretive entrance into Walvis Bay, and our triumphant and glorious entrance into Cape Town, we entered Chennai with the smell and cloud of pollution. The port is even more of an industrial one than Walvis Bay, with dark plumes of smoke and freight cars peppering the scenery.

In all ports I have let others guide me around. I had little time before I left the U.S. to do any independent research about any of the countries and locations that I was going to. And I anticipated that I would have plenty of time to plan my time in country (a favorite activity of mine) but instead, time and desire has run away from me. So today, without any plans, I joined Neal and Nikki for lunch and any other adventure that would await us. Sufficiently covered by conservative clothing, we headed down the gangway and placed our feet in India. I must take a moment to note that in the past seven weeks I have been in four different continents. How do you like them apples?

Taxi drivers approached us and one said he would take us the restaurant we requested. After driving out of the port area, we were instructed to enter a motorized rickshaw with our new driver Johnny. Johnny told us that he was friends with many Semester at Sea people, and pulled out a book where Semester at Sea students, staff, and even a staff captain wrote about how great Johnny was as a driver. At this point we weren’t sure if he knew where we wanted to go, and we told him that we wanted to have lunch. He stated that he would take us to a great place for “dinner”, but first we would go to a store for some shopping. The store was opulent and very beautiful, but much too pricy for this grad student. We hurried ourselves out and pressed for lunch.

We were taken to a Chinese/Indian restaurant recommended, okay, picked by Johnny. It was excellent. With our hands we dug into palak paneer, channa masala, and a ginger chicken dish. We scooped up with vittles with naan and mixed it with rice. I requested riata and almost drank it from the bowl. We didn’t talk for 10 minutes, and when we did it was solely about the quality and taste of the food. It was so unbelievably yummy.

Before when we had been riding around in our rickshaw, I could barely breath from the pollution, but it had rained and the pollution had been pulled from the sky (and probably covered the earth in a different way) and I could smell a freshness about the city. We wen from store to store as Johnny took us to stores that would obviously give him a kick back (the noticeably presence of other Semester at Sea’ers demonstrated this. At the last store, I was draped with other 50 pashimas, all of which I passed on. Exhausted from our shopping and still full from our incredibly food, we headed home. But not before Johnny pressed us to write in his book about how great he was. In a veiled commentary we noted how he would take us where he wanted to go and that you had to “go with the flow” with him. Nonetheless, he had an outstanding day, driving about the city.

Aside from the activities of the day, what most presented itself to me is how normal and comfortable it feels to be here. Overwhelmingly this is how it has felt everywhere I have been so far. As different as these countries feel, with their different languages, customs, foods, and cultures there is a binding between them. I don’t think it’s just that “we’re all human beings”. Growing up in El Paso, with family that continues to reside in Mexico, you are still exposed to life beyond the border. And at the end of the day poverty, as many shades as it takes from tragic to mundane has a very similar feel. There are children running around in the streets with mud caked feet and huge smiles on their faces. Buildings are falling apart and scaffolding are wood sticks bound together with simple pulleys used to move objects. Sidewalks uproot in the middle of a walkway. A man lies under an overpass, frail and thin, with his days left small and numbered. Few people look sad, burdened, or pitiful. Most look content and happy. The women are dressed in bright vibrant colors. Tropical fruit: guavas, bananas, papaya sit in stands on the side of road. Life in poverty is very similar. There is of course want, children do not have much opportunity for education and the ability to choose their future lives. People go hungry and become sick due to unfit water and lack of accessibility to health care. Poverty is not noble, no matter our American ideals. But, the simplicity, the energy, the lack of arrogance that has attached itself to poverty, in this very limited view is imposing. Here are millions of people without the tangible benefits as Americans we expect, and they are still happy, have great food, and have enormous hearts. So, the places I have been to are familiar. They are like the outskirts of Cd. Juarez, Agua Prieta, Chihuahua, and Parral. They are the colonias outside of McAllen and El Paso. So I bring a little of home with me wherever I go.

Last comment of my first day, I was told today by Indians that I look Indian. I think I just look brown. And that mere fact makes me look like lots of different nationalities. The mestizo in me can take on so many forms, people in Rio de Janeiro asking me for directions, not being taken for an American in Namibia and Cape Town. I see it as such a gift. I think often of writing a book about the experience of traveling as a Latina…thoughts for another day.

TIA (a.k.a. This is Africa) Part II

Gentle Readers

I return you back to Cape Town, South Africa. The day after my arrival from safari Amy Hill, Amy Lappen, Cindy Zomchek, Phil Zerzan, and I went on a tour of Cape Point. They had hired a driver for the day, who picked us up from the dock in a silver minivan taxi. He was a practicing Muslim, and since it was Ramadan, he was not able to eat until sunset. No matter: he was all smiles. We drove through the city and then began to move away from the city scenery to the hillside. We stopped first at Kolee Bay for breakfast a bit of shopping. I had a proper English breakfast of fried tomatoes, fried egg, toast with jam, and bacon. After perusing the shops, we headed off for a wine tasting at the Constantia Valley vineyard, where I tried the South African varietal, pinotage, a very close cousin to the pino noir grape.

After too many glasses of wine, we headed out again to Hout Bay for a fantastic view of the shore and ocean, and I picked up a few shells and contemplated not returning to the ship, and then thought better of it. I was in anticipation of seeing the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet, and views of the water wet my appetite. We zipped through the scenery, watching the hills and mountains play in front of us, rising and falling in beautiful symmetry. We passed Chapman’s Bay, and soon entered the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve. Our minivan wound itself up the mountain so that we could get to the southwestern most tip of Africa. And there it was, the meeting of the Indian and Atlantic oceans. The Indian, warm and placid, the Atlantic, rough and cold. Out in the distance was a large rock below the surface of the water, but waves would crash upon it and huge sprays would explode from the hidden stone. After climbing to the top and taking the requisite pictures, we stumbled back into our minivan for as we headed further south. Baboons in the street slowed our progress. Little baboons played and nestled with their mothers. Couples picked and ate the insects on their mates’ backs. And an old baboon had a receiver on its neck as it had been tagged for research purposes.

Our travels again continued and we ended up at Cape Point. After more touristy pictures, I headed out to the rocks to water the water explode on the cliffs. My majestic visit to the country could not be better. Water has been an integral part of my life, and its music loud and raucous as well as calm and quite is a joy to my ears. Too quickly, we left again, to go see the penguins of South Africa. There at Simons Bay were penguins sunning themselves on the beach, braying (as they were formally called Jackass Penguins since they sounded like donkeys), molting, and generally having a good time diving in the water and body boarding. After some time with penguins we headed over to a late lunch where my desire for a burger and fries got the better of me. I care not, it was delicious.

Our day was fast ending, and we drove back to the ship as the sun fell behind Table Mountain. The Amys, Cindy, and I headed over to a Belgium restaurant where I had a velvety chocolate mousse. And so ended the month of September.

The next day was to bring a fortuitous event: former Archbishop Desmond Tutu was to board our vessel and speak to us. After a short breakfast, Heather, Bill and I headed out to a French café in the LGBT part of town. We commiserated over chocolate croissants, lattes, café olés, and hot chocolates. I scribbled my post cards and thought about the cards my sister and Joy sent, as well as the note Kyle slid into Joy’s card. I felt very loved. For lunch we moved over to the restaurant next door, Fiesta, for tapas. We gushed over our baked brie, fresh guacamole, and olives as we sat in our club chairs admiring the Ché clock. Afterwards, we breezed through some shops and made our slow way back to the ship. We ran into Cindy, my boss the Dean of Students, on the way back, and we decided to take a different route back. As we sauntered down the street, we ran across a sushi restaurant, Beluga, that had been recommended and decided to head there for dinner.

The moment had arrived, and Desmond Tutu was to come on board. A few of my Ambassadors (a student group, one part of which greets and hosts diplomats, interport students and lecturers, and meets with specials guests) requested to help out that day, and they were giddy with excitement. Heather, Bill and I had staked out some seats, and I reserved the front seats for my Ambassadors. The Union was packed and buzzing with anticipation. Then he entered, and he a little man, round and short, and bursting with energy, joy, and hope. And lo and behold, he sat right in front of Heather. She was beaming with happiness. He had informed us that he only had thirty minutes to spend with us, and we did not know if it would be question and answer or him speaking to us. After being introduced, he stood up and started to talk to us about life, love, joy, and how to be better Americans. He spoke about how much we can accomplish and how wonderful this experience of Semester at Sea will be for us. He reminded us that all life has joy and energy and that we needed to give it. He joked how he was famous and that in the U.S. an excited woman ran up to see him and called him “Archbishop Mandela”, she got two for the price of one! He blessed my resident Kedren when she sneezed. Ah, to be blessed by Desmond Tutu!

Throughout the conversation tears would well in my eyes and my chest heaved with inspiration. I kept feeling outside of myself, and would close my eyes to hear and understand him better. My body would shudder with his energy. There were times I actually thought that he would rise up, as if the light of God was so powerful in him that he would fly. One of his more energetic comments was that all people have God in them, but that God must disguise Himself because if we saw God in everyone clearly that we would be blinded. So he told us to look around and he began to point and say, “God is in you! And in you! And in you too!”

Time when he was there stood still. It was as if there were no other people in the whole world then those in that room for the half hour. A few students came up to ask questions, and one student asked, “As Americans what should we be doing?” He said that Americans are some of the most generous people he knew. And he wondered what would happen if we spent as much money on bread as we did on bombs? Would the world be a better one? A safer one? One with out terrorists? What a profound thought. And he reminded us to remember that there are many nations and many people outside of our country, and what happens in the U.S. affects the rest of the world.

The minutes expired much too quickly, and the energetic little old man danced out of the Union to a cacophonous applause. I reached out and touched his shoulder. Is it too much to say it was warm? Either way, I could not even speak of the event until late in the day. The enormity of the event filled my heart with gladness and compassion. South Africa was quickly becoming the port to beat.

Later that evening, a few of us headed over to Beluga for dinner, but they were unable to seat all of us, and only Heather, Bill, and I decided to wait it out. After our party decreased, we were seated with all alacrity and ordered a bottle of South African pinotage. Cindy, who had previously stated that she was unable to make dinner due to being on duty, had run from the ship to the restaurant to join us. After making our toasts and chatting, the chef’s special arrived, with specialty rolls, nigiri, sashimi, and a special treat, sushi sandwiches. The restaurant was gorgeous, located in a former foundry, with vaulted ceilings and exposed brick. It easily could have been pulled from New York, except that size of the space was outrageously big. As I looked around, I saw the nasty secret of South Africa blatantly exposed. Outside of myself (an American) and a Black man sitting at a table close by, we were the only people of color in the whole restaurant including wait staff, expect for three bartenders. It was incredible. There must have been 200 people there, and we were South Africa. A new South Africa. But money and class were still what they were, and what it was, is that people of color, that is Black Africans in particular, still do not have the access to middle class, though this is said to be changing. It was a familiar experience, being the only person of color in the room. I often wonder if students recognize this, and hoped that in India, where there is a miniscule Euro-decent population, that the contrast would finally be truly felt.

We headed back to the ship after a wonderful chocolate cake and so ended our last night in Cape Town.

Our last day was spent shopping for some last minute gifts and some new clothes for myself, I was pretty sick of my seven shirts. And we pushed off for our next country and continent. I lay here now and think about my time in South Africa, and on the continent of Africa. Something there caught my heart. Every moment was wondrous and special. Every moment, even the ones where students did or said something stupid or insensitive, was still great because someone said something to them, called them on their privilege, or at least offered a contrast to the experience of the members of the country to bring out the nation’s loveliness. The moment I stepped out into Cape Town, it felt like home. On the first day I walked around by myself, unabashed and confident. My friends and I became closer. I was present with myself. I danced the night away with great friends. I watched elephants, giraffes, zebras, and rhinos at home and not behind bars in an artificial environment. I saw a great leader of peace and mercy (see the Tribunal of Peace and Reconciliation) dance in the Union with passion and happiness. I enjoyed a quite moment with friends and steamed milk and chocolate. I wondered about not getting back on the ship and transferring to the University of Cape Town for graduate school. It was incredible, and I could not be more blessed than having been there. I did not know what to expect, and so I went in with an open mind, and more importantly, and open heart. And South Africa filled it 100 times over. Two weeks later, it feels like a dream, but when I close my eyes, I see it, feel it, and it refreshes my soul…

TIA: This Is Africa Part I

The ability to express my time in South Africa fails me. I am filled with superlatives: excellent, amazing, mind blowing, overwhelming, unbelievable. The seven days I spent in South Africa will continue to fill me with wonder and desire for, possibly, the rest of my days. The power this country has over me fills me with both peace and energy, with hope and sadness, and the regret that I could not stay longer to learn more about its people and culture. I only hope that I can convey what an extra ordinary time I had in this country.

First thing is first though. I noticed that in my last blog posting that I had forgotten to write about a very powerful event that happened on our journey from Brazil to Namibia. During a meeting that was going to focus on the issues of traveling as a person of color, some students, in particular those of African decent stated that they were concerned that little was being discussed about crossing the Atlantic and recognizing the kidnapping of thousands/millions of people and their enslavement. To address this issue, the students decided to have a Middle Passage ceremony, to commemorate the passage of African slaves to the Americas and beyond. Students of color painted their faces and performed a ritual on the back of Deck 7. I didn’t participate, I didn’t feel it was my place, space; but I was unbelievably proud of their strength, courage, and creativity. They say a problem, spoke out, and created a solution. Bravo! I am so glad that they had their event, because even for me (someone who doesn’t identify as having African decent), I had this feeling of coming home. That Africa was inviting me in, loving me, and I was blessed that students recognized the need to commemorate the passage.

South Africa. Where do I begin? I guess, like Frauline Maria says, “Let’s start at the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start.” The ship was rocking at a level not seen before. It literally felt as if things were going sideways. The night before we entered port, the ship was rocking roughly from the seas. All night drawers were sliding out and slamming back in. Chairs toppled over, and items on my nightstand slid into the open drawers and were secured when the drawers slammed back in. I woke up early to watch us come in, but it was rainy and cloudy so I went back to sleep until 0630. We had anticipated being dockside at 0630 but it was obvious that it was not going to happen. I went to the dining hall and food and drinks slid of tables. A pitcher of orange juice slid down a table and smashed against a wall. It was a tough day for all of us, but most took it in stride laughing when they were hurled from one side to another.

When the rain and mist had cleared as we entered the harbor, the majesty of the city was upon us. The most imposing figure of the scene was Table Mountain. Some of the most beautiful cities in the world (Rio de Janeiro and San Francisco) are so gorgeous because their city complements the beautiful of the natural surroundings so well. Cape Town is no different. Table Mountain is a mountain that looks like a mesa, flat on top. And it sits in the middle of town overlooking city and shore. It was simply breathtaking. I could feel the beat of the city taking hold of me, and I was excited to be part of the city.

There was no diplomatic briefing at this port due to miscommunication between our staff and the diplomats, so members of the shipboard community disembarked shortly after arrival. Heather, Bill, and I headed out to walk around the town. We stopped first at a coffee shop to enjoy non-ship coffee (I had hot chocolate) before we headed out. We suddenly felt like real people again. We were no longer closed off to society in a self-contained microcosm. I felt free to express myself fully and take off the yoke of responsibility. After coffee, we headed to Long Street, the city center of Cape Town. Unfortunately we took the long way around, but after sauntering about for an hour we finally arrived at our location. If you can imagine, we were already hungry again, so we stopped at Nando’s to have roasted chicken and French fries, possibly the best food combination ever.

I may have not said this before, but it is possible to be in Cape Town and not realize you are in Africa or even South Africa. Though there is a visible Black South African population, the malls, businesses, people in charge, are more likely than not to be White South Africans. Unlike in Namibia, though, there were definitely more Black South Africans who were part of the middle class of the country. It is amazing how colonialism has continued to affect the three countries (Brazil, Namibia, and South Africa) that I have visited.

After lunch, Bill, Heather and I wandered around a bit, before I headed home to climb up Table Mountain with Nikki (another LLC from San Francisco). I hurried back to the ship on the soon to be familiar path back to the harbor. Nikki and I decided that we didn’t have enough time to climb Table Mountain, so we grabbed a cab by pretending we were staying at a local hotel, and headed to the gondola that would take us to the top. The view of us climbing to the base of Table Mountain was breathtaking, and we stared intently at Signal Hill, which sat silently next to its larger cousin. Nikki and I climbed into the gondola, and I asked if it was okay if I gripped her arm on the way up because I was so scared of the height. The gondola didn’t help my fear as it spun around 360 degrees (actually very cool and it meant you got a great view the entire time) and I couldn’t grip onto anything but Nikki.

What had been an overcast day opened up at the right moment for us. The entire city was open before us, crisp, clear, and chilly. Bright sandy beaches with blue seas sparkled. Green mountains where elephants, lions, zebras once roamed towered in the distance, while precipices challenged us with their fearful drops. I have already used the term breathtaking, but it was in fact so. Gorgeous blue and brown/yellow birds zoomed around us, and I felt at peace with nature, life, and myself. Nikki and I walked around taking pictures of the landscape and each other. Nikki giggle hysterically as she took pictures of herself. We finished our visit by having hot chocolate outside with the wind blowing our hair around. We talked about our families, how lucky we were that their work and belief in us allowed us to be at this place in our lives (in South Africa!), and how grateful we were to them.

We headed down the gondola and flagged down a taxi to take us home. Janvier picked us up. At first he was pretty quite, and then I asked if he was originally from Cape Town. He said he was originally from Rwanda and that he had been here a few years with his wife and children but that the rest of his family was still in Rwanda. He told us how he had visited dozens of countries in Africa, and that he dreamed of visiting the U.S. He told us how he missed home. And how his brothers and father had been killed in the war in Rwanda. At the end of our drive he showed us pictures of his wife and kids, and we took his name and number to contact him so that we could take us around some other time. I could barely contain myself from crying, from the sadness of some events of his life, from the joy of his hope and life, and for being blessed to hear his story. There are days on this journey where I am overwhelmed by how much people are willing to give of themselves and share with others. What a blessing.

Nikki and I headed back to our cabins to get ready for dinner. Someone (to this day we have no idea who) organized a group of people to get together for dinner and go to a Cuban restaurant, Cape de Cuba. Cindy, Neal, Curtis, Brooke Cashman, Garret (a.k.a Gar), Nikki, and I grabbed a cab and headed there. This is quite possibly the best night I have had in my entire life. I know that I speak in superlatives and in hyperbole a great deal, but honestly: BEST NIGHT EVER. Cape de Cuba is on Long Street and is beautifully decorated in Cuban furniture and pieces. And though no one at the restaurant was Cuban (and there wasn’t really any Cuban food on the menu), our server was from Angola and spoke to me in Spanish. He informed us that a band would be coming up soon to play for us and we had center stage. Cindy was given pink feathers (they are given to people celebrating birthdays, which she was decidedly not doing) and we laughed and took pictures as we all took turns with the feathers. But the festivities began when the band showed up. They played salsa and my dancing shoes were on. I basically did not eat dinner, because I danced with Neal for several songs (applause by the whole restaurant), then with Garrett, then with Nikki, then with Brooke, then with Neal again, and Garrett again, and on and on. It was terrific. The band even dedicated a song to me. How can life get better than that? We jaunted back full, happy, and enjoying the after effects of some alcoholic beverages, through Long Street and through the harbor.

I decided that 2am was the right time to pack for my safari, and got busy putting my bug spray (i.e. malaria protector), lightweight pants, and sun block in my bag. Little did I know that I would need none of them, and rather my rain jacket I was lucky to have brought with me. I joined my safari group in the Union at 6 in the morning with one student asleep from being intoxicated, another drunk student munching on a chicken leg from the box lunch we were given (who was later given the nickname “Pink Pants”. It was surreal and I knew it was going to be a great trip. Our trip guide was an older man, Peter, who generally headed these trips for South African retirees, so this was going to be an experience from him. After an uneventful bus and plane ride, we arrived in Durban, the third largest city in South Africa after Jo-berg and Cape Town, on the eastern coast of the city. We then drove three hours to our lodge, and on the way we passed fields of sugar cane and pineapple. Small stands dotted the landscape, with women selling small bowls of pineapple. I wished to stop and talk to them over a ripe pineapple, but instead we headed steadily to our home for the next few days.

We entered the lodge location and proceeded slowly down a dirt road until we stopped suddenly for a large ostrich that ran in front and then across our path. It was to be the first of many animals we were to see. The lodge was gorgeous, and our rooms were small huts in the trees with mosquito nets set as canopies for our beds and nine foot shower heads in glass encased showers. We were definitely not roughing it. When I was picking up my bags to head to my room a spider monkey came into the lodge (it is fully open air), jumped on the table with the tea and coffee, and stuffed five packets of sugar in its mouth and than scampered off. I was greeted at my room by a warthog that jaunted across my path.

After dropping off our bags, we were whisked away for a game drive. Our driver, Alpha (who seemed to have developed a crush on me by the end of our time), lead us around the lodge’s private park and showed us the ecashea trees and fever trees. We also saw an invasive spieces plant that had been brought from Mexico on horses during World War II. And since they didn’t have a natural predator, they were choking out the native trees and plants. National and local governments are employing thousand of South Africans to remove them from the area. It poured as we road a long, and I was happy I had brought my raincoat, but water was still dripping onto my jeans. We saw impala, with their beautiful horns and the “m” markings that standout proudly on their rumps. Our driver jumped out of the car and picked up fresh impala droppings and passed them around our car. They felt like small pebbles and didn’t smell. As our drive and the light began to end, we saw the first of the Big Five: a rhino. This area is particularly known for the amount of rhino (years earlier a rhino conservation project had been instituted). It was dark gray and bulky. It looked both peaceful and powerful. It was certainly a sight to be seen. Our group was excited and anxious for the next day to see the animals at the national park.


We had a delicious buffet of salad, fruit, and meats, and its soporific effect lead me to bed for the early wake up the next day. The next day I piled into Alpha’s car, and we headed off to the Hluhluwe-Umfolozi Game Reserve national Park to find the Big Five (i.e. lions, elephants, rhinoceroses, giraffes, and leopards). I cried as I entered the park; I was actually going to do the one thing I had wanted to do all of my life. Fortune was on our side and we quickly saw zebra and impala, eland, and wildebeests. Then, the giraffe appeared. Silent and beautiful, the stood masticating on leaves from high trees. As they munched, they peered as we clicked hundreds of pictures. Their ears fluttered and they walked slowly away from us for a more peaceful snack. Our drive continued, and again and again, we saw animals and birds, water buffalo, crocodiles, cranes, a small blue sparrow that landed right in front of me on the car. I don’t think anything more beautiful has ever been sitting before me. Birds of all colors, blue, green, pink, yellow, large vultures, kites, and eagles soared around us. I was in heaven. From a distance we saw herds of rhinos and their babies sitting together with impala and water buffalo. Then, when we thought we would see no more, there stood a bull elephant. He stood ripping leaves off a tree, his back turned to us. He wanted nothing to do with us, and would move to hide his face as we drove around him. We finally caught a glimpse of his tusks and trunk, and his small mouth enjoying his lunch. Students later told me that they wish they were animals, that all they saw them do is eat. For animals it’s a rather simple life. No job, no responsibility outside of taking care of their family, no stress from commuting. Life is filled with eating, procreating, running to or away from something. Flight and fright happens and then goes away. It sounded like a pretty good life for all of us.

I came back to the lodge and sat on the back patio and listened to the insects and the call of the birds. It was astounding and I get teary-eyed thinking about it now. I thought this could be my life: living out in the bush with the animals, birds, and insects. I was shaken back into reality by the crunching of roast beef flavor potato chips (actually quite tasty) being eaten by my neighbor LLC Curtis. For my entire journey, this was the first time I was completely present with myself, and I have done my best to keep this perspective going.

After another phenomenal dinner and wine flowing all night, I went to bed ready for a last and very early game ride. I was awoken at 5:15am and headed out to another guided ride by Alpha in my designated seat, up front. (It’s amazing how natural it feels to drive on the left side after a few days). After a pretty disappointing half hour, we came upon a herd of giraffe. Male giraffe are significantly larger than female giraffe (and the ladies also have rounder hips and rumps) and their spots get darker so that they start to border on a blackish brown. A large, older male giraffe started chasing a young female giraffe and then BAM! he tired to mount her. There was a collective cheer/gasp and everyone’s cameras came out and then we went silent again. The male giraffe chased the female giraffe around, keeping her from heading into the trees and making mating impossible. He tried to mount her a few times more, and elicited a call from a student “just do it already!” They finally moved out of view to have their tryst away from our eyes. It was a perfect bookend to our time in Kwazulu Natal. Soon after this we headed back to Durban for our flight back to Cape Town.

Well, I’m in page 5 of Microsoft Word, and I still have three days to go. So, I’m going to do a Part II. Please look for it. A very famous and incredible person came aboard…so tune in!

Much Love
Angelica