Angelica's Travel Journal

The Quietness of the Ancient, the Modern, and the Eternal

2008-12-01T16:04:00.001-08:00

I sit in my cabin tonight, taking a few moments that I have free to write my next blog. Today is a B day (we have A days and B days on the ship), and all of my meetings are scheduled on this day. So it has been work, work, work since this morning. The Ambassadors Ball (the gala at the end of the voyage) is two weeks away, and I pray that my decorations will make it on in Honolulu. The Ambassadors (Intercultural, Ball, and Goodwill) are busy working on their projects as well as the massive amount of schoolwork and studying they need to accomplish before Hawai’i. Stress levels have certainly gone up, and Kenton (my cabin steward) works late into the night, as students are not vacating their rooms during the day to let him clean. Tonight we are having an Open Mic Night, and I will miss it yet again due to Alcohol Service. I’ve been told that though the number of students drinking on Deck 7 has increased, the mood is substantially subdued.

Thanksgiving Day and our day in Honolulu is three days away. So If I do not get to speak to you on Thursday, have a wonderful Thanksgiving Day with your family and friends. The ship has been moving incredibly slowly. Generally, the ship is moving at 24 knots. At this time we are moving at 14 knots, if feels like we’re just floating in the water. We are incredibly close to Hawai’i but since students are required to have a certain number of days sailing, the ship has shut down an engine and is moving slower. It’s also incredibly expensive to dock in Honolulu. Alas, we will only have one day in Honolulu.

Luckily, Japan was only a few days ago, and it still sits fresh in my mind. It was Brooke C.’s favorite port, and I imagine, it would be my dad’s. It was easily the cleanest, calmest, and quietest country we have been to on this voyage. When Brooke C. and I were returning from Tokyo we ran into Cindy and Amy H. Brooke C. declared that Japan was the cleanest country and pressed Cindy and Amy H. if they had even seen a piece of trash. Cindy said that she had seen one piece of trash on the street. Brooke C. stated that it was not in fact a piece of trash, but rather a person dressed up like trash for Halloween. Brooke really, really liked Japan.

Japan has an incredible essence. There is a sense of calm in the air, and the soil and earth feel old. Yet, it is bustling and modern, with bullet trains, industry, and the latest fashions. But the calmness permeates through this reality as well. The trains are silent, inside and out. There are no horns honking. As I crossed the street in Kobe, it was silent; this huge city was silent. At the “Tokyo Time Square”, with its gigantic TV billboard screens, multiple intersections, and eerie crossing of hundreds of people from all sides it was again: silent. This silence, in both it calmness and its strength wound its way through my time in Japan.

The disembarkation in Kobe was a process. When we left Shanghai, we were told that disembarkation in Kobe was going to be just short of a nightmare. Every single person on the ship had to have their temperatures taken before we could disembark, and this would begin at 8:00am. We sent out notes saying that the LLCs would knock on their residents’ doors at 7:45am and physically give them their temperature. I knocked on my doors and handed them out. If I could not see the resident because they were in the bathroom, I would have them holler at me.

When my sea was called we marched up to the Faculty/Staff Lounge and walked in one door, passed what looked like a video camera, and then out the door. What we found out later was that it was an infrared camera, and that was how they took our temperatures. “How very Japanese,” a student said. After waiting about an hour, the Voice came over the PA system: “Will the LLCs proceed to the terminal.” I headed out to the terminal to pass out passports. Entry into Japan consisted of inspection of the passport, picture taking, and having the fingerprints of the index fingers taken. The process unfortunately lasted until 1pm.

I went through the process and headed to meet Cindy and Brooke for our adventure for the day. Fr. Michele, a friend of Cindy’s was going to take us on a picnic up in the mountains, at a temple. Fr. Michele is a small, elderly man (I think in his 80s) who has had a Catholic ministry in Japan for 40 years. He mainly works with sailors who port in Kobe. We piled into his Toyota Prius, and drove through Kobe up into the mountains. It was the first time we could really see autumn. The mountains were bright red, orange, yellow, and green. It was extraordinary to see the changing leaves, and it reminded me of fall in New England. The sun sets early now, and even though it was only 2pm, the sun was already being its decent.

We soon escaped the city, and settled into the tranquil countryside. Traditional homes with hatched roofs still dotted the hills. We turned onto a side street (roads are very small in Japan, even with their tiny cars), and pulled alongside a Buddhist temple. The grounds were immaculate, and the pagodas were simple wooden structures but impressive in size. We sat in a little alcove, to nosh. Fr. Michele had brought a lovely feast. I cut baguettes, and we spread cheese, jam, and pate on the slices. Fr. Michele also brought a dark bread that had figs and walnuts baked in. Cindy cut up persimmons and oranges. We sipped on Japanese beer. We laughed, and chatted, and thoroughly enjoyed our afternoon. It’s amazing what good food and good company can do. We finished the feast with some cake, jam, and jasmine tea.

After our meal, we walked around the temple area, first heading to the red pagoda. It was framed by trees whose leaves were now red and yellow. It was the definition of picturesque. We then wandered around the trees and bamboo; gazed at the serenity of the nearby pond; and admired in wonder at the shrines built into rocks. The day was calming, peaceful, and quite possibly the best day I’ve had in any port. As we left the temple, I went to the large bell and rang it. It reverberated, and I could feel a new sense of peace wash over me. We piled back into Fr. Michele’s little care (but not before he gave us gifts!) and headed back to the ship. We took a quick detour to visit the Catholic church where Fr. Michele ministers, and it reflected the Japanese culture with its clean lines and minimalist aesthetic.

Brooke and I met up with Nikki and Becca for dinner. My resident Kedren joined us as we headed out for cheap sushi. We passed an Indian restaurant, and had to pull Nikki away. We enjoyed a quick dinner as well as the quiet of the city. Kobe is a vibrant city with many people, but the streets were silent, not a horn blowing, not a loud conversation. The city was silent.

The next day emerged, and it was planned to be a great adventure, though it did not turn out to be I did not have any yen, and was borrowing, trying to find an ATM desperately. What I later learned is that I should have had some yen on my to begin with (if you are doing SAS there is a great service that allows you to have about $25 US in the local currency, it helps to have at least for the first day). Additionally, it might be a good idea to change money. All of which I did not do. So I borrowed money from Nikki. The two of us decided to head up to the public baths of Mt. Rokko. We had to take the subway to a train station (a woman in a beautiful kimono helped us), then to a bus, then to a funicular, then to another bus, that would take us to the cable car, that would finally make it to the top of the mountain. Then of course we would have to pay for the bath. We got as far as the cable car, and ran out of money. We had enough if we left there and headed back to the ship. Nikki was not happy. I finally was able to change money, and so we went and had Indian food to soothe Nikki’s soul. We departed Kobe that night: to much fanfare. A jazz band set up and played standards, and loads of people stood outside the terminal to wave goodbye. It was magic. And as we sailed away, you could still hear the shrill of the trumpet.

Earlier I wrote about the sail day between ports in Japan so I will jump ahead to the day we landed in Yokohama. Brooke and I had decided we were heading to Tokyo. So we alighted as quickly as possible from the ship and headed to the post office for stamps. The train station was located right across, so we purchased our tickets and grabbed the next train for Tokyo. The local train from Yokohama is a 55-minute ride to Tokyo. Like many cities in the US, there was little break from city life from Yokohama (i.e. no countryside). We arrived in Tokyo and grabbed the metro to the old city of Tokyo. Brooke and I grabbed a quick lunch of miso soup, shashimi and sushi. It was heavenly. What I enjoy about sushi in Japan is that they put the wasabi in the sushi, unlike in the US. Brooke liked that in Japan in restaurants they bring a “playpen” for your purse/bag, so that it doesn’t sit on the floor and get dirty. The Japanese are very clean.

We walked around Old Tokyo, Asakusa, first through the many stalls that housed trinkets, magnets, postcards, and the ubiquitous cell phone trinket. I have to also say that like our dollar stores in the US, the Japanese have their 100-yen stores, which is about $1. After a few small purchases, we headed towards the pagodas. We stopped to receive our fortunes. We slipped in a 100-yen coin in a slot, shook a metal canister until a stick popped out. On the stick was a character. You then look for the character on the outside of small drawers. When you find your character, you open the drawer and draw your fortune. If you have a negative fortune, you can tie the fortune on a metal wire and it negates it. Luckily mine was positive. I then washed my hands with some holy water, wafted incense into my face, and rubbed the Buddha’s head, shoulders, arms, and knees.

As we entered the pagoda we saw a mother and her young daughter dressed in gorgeous kimonos. We asked to take a picture and they graciously accepted. Apparently, at some (ages 3 and 9) it is lucky to go to temple, so many young children were dressed up in traditional clothes at temple. We wandered around a bit more, and then decided to go grab some dinner at the Wolfgang Puck express, where I had a panini and French-fries it was wonderful.

We then decided to look at high fashion. We walked around Issey Miyake, Prada, Cartier, Theory, Dior, Burberry, Chanel, etc. In another showing of Japanese politeness when we went to Cartier, they pulled out a $90k ring for us to look at. Incredible. After admiring the luxurious fabrics we went and had some tea and cake at French café (the Japanese have great French cafés and had the best desserts on this voyage so far). It was fun to just sit, relax, and chat. Outside of the incredible chocolate cake and the tea with hot milk (an aside, why is it we are the only country that serves coffee, tea, etc. with cold milk? Every country I have been to on three continents have served my drinks with steamed milk. This is my new issue and I will be fighting for justice on this point!) the great thing about this café was the toilet. When I sat down I realized that it had heated seats. I then saw that there were buttons for music, spray, bidet, blower, and flush. I waited for it to light up. It was another great experience, and again very Japanese. We walked around a bit, enjoy the Top Shop and H&M and then headed to the Tokyo Times Square: Shibuya. If you have seen “Lost in Translation” this is the area with the brontosaurus. Shibuya is this great center of stores and buildings. It is a circular intersection, and people and cars moved orderly, and again, with only the slightest of sound. Brooke and I enjoyed a glass of wine, before we made our way home. We joined the throngs of Japanese workers at 11pm (and an elderly man in traditional dress and a fox stole) on our ride back to Yokohama.

The terminal, which could double as a skate park, was not open, so Brooke and I met up with Cindy and Amy H. and found our way through the parking lot to the opening for us. I went to bed serene and a little tired from the long walks.

Not having a real plan for the next day, I ran into Garrett at breakfast and we decided to hang out in the park reading and writing post cards. Yokohama has a long stretch of park by the port that is again quiet and serene. Fountains populate the park in the shapes of serpents, frogs, and turtles. We sat down and read and wrote, and talked about life, love, and happiness. The wind picked up and shook the leaves from their branches and spun around us. It was a perfect fall day. It was one of those days you remember having one of those lifetime talks. It was sweet and heartbreaking at the same time. Time as always slipped away as we chatted. We hurried to have some tea and cake (Japan has many cake sets that come with a piece of cake and hot beverage). Garrett told me of a giant spider he saw in the park. I asked if it was furry like a tarantula, and he said it was black and sleek. To which I responded, “How very Japanese.” We headed back to the ship to start the process of getting people on the ship again. It was quick and easy.

All right, time to work the desk.

The Quietness of the Ancient, the Modern, and the Eternal

2008-12-01T16:04:00.000-08:00

The Great Wall was, well, pretty great

2008-11-24T13:50:00.000-08:00

Gentle People

We crossed the international dateline last night. Today was the second 22nd of November. I really hoped that “Groundhog Day” would be looped on the close circuit TV, but alas it was not. We will be in Hawai’i in five days, so I have been enjoying Lilo and Stitch. Tonight is the Semester at Sea Auction. I’ve enjoyed the silent auction and the raffle and am excited about the live auction. My item, a salsa lesson, will be auctioned off tonight.

Last night we had the Staff/Faculty/Lifelong Learner dinner. We had a fabulous dinner (I had the filet mignon roulade) and then danced the night away. What made it better was that we were joined in the dancing by Anna Maria (Hotel Captain) and Mario (Chief Engineer), and two crew members who danced behind the bar. I woke this morning with blisters on my feet and a stiff neck, evidence of a great night.

It’s been two and a half weeks since I was in China. It’s a little crazy to think that that much time has already passed. It’s even crazier to think that in two weeks, this voyage will end. Someone asked me if I’m ready to get off. I answered, that I would love to take a month off, see people I want to see, be away from some people, and eat the food I want to eat. And then I could come back for another round. I miss my family, friends, and Mexican food, but I will miss our little community, my incredible new friends, and the life spent traveling and at sea. Enough that, let us get to the task at hand: the account of China.

I rolled out of bed at 6:30am and headed to the Faculty/Staff lounge. The cloudy harbor of Hong Kong rose up before us. The tall spires of buildings stood imposingly on the banks. The hills rose behind all the buildings and softened the austerity of the buildings. Our ship entered and docked at the harbor and immigration and customs entered our ship. A few days before, all members of the ship had to have their temperatures taken. There is a deep fear of avian flu in Asia, and Hong Kong would not allow us to enter without the temperatures. Unfortunately, the customs and immigration process in Hong Kong took a very long time. I sat in the Faculty/Staff lounge working on the Ambassadors Ball’s invitation and watched the passports come in and out several times. The officials had done their work, but then wanted to recheck the passports. We had hoped to disembark at 8:30am. It was closer to 11:00am when we finally were able to get off.

Nikki, Brooke (my two constant companions), Cindy, and went off to grab lunch. Becca was going to meet up with us afterwards. The ship docked across from downtown and we needed to take the Star Ferry across the harbor. Nikki had never had dim sum, so we went to a restaurant that served it that situated near the ship. First I have to say I love dim sum. But I didn’t always love dim sum. I had to get over tastes that I was unfamiliar with. After opening my taste bud mind, I grew to love dim sum. But as it was Nikki’s first time, and she has specific eating needs, it was a difficult experience for her. China is a meat country, and most dishes had meat and since we didn’t speak Cantonese, we couldn’t ask about the ingredients of different foods. So, Nikki wasn’t able to fully participate like the rest of us. But we all had a great time eating plates of food we didn’t know how to pronounce or know what was actually in it. My favorite was a gelatinous food with vegetables. Very yummy!

After a light lunch, we met up with Becca headed to the post office and then on to a walking tour. Brooke C. (of the Field Office), as always, was our intrepid leader. The thing about Hong Kong, is that it’s easier to get around in the air, that is the walk ways that go from building to building, than on the sidewalks. What is even better, it’s not as if you know where to go because you’re walking from building to building and through the backs of buildings. After visiting some monuments, we headed to Hong Kong Park. We went up staircases, down staircases, and then decided to go through the high court building. We took the escalator up to the drug information center, and lo and behold, there was the park! It was so peaceful, with numerous fountains, koi in the pond, and gorgeous flowers. I would have loved to pull out a blanket and nap. From the park, we walked to the funicular to take to the Hong Kong Peak. The views for the Peak are incredible! I love nature, but I’m also a city girl. So to see how city and nature combine is a thing of beauty. The mountains, the harbor, the pearl spires, and the sun setting: it was breathtaking! We took dozens of pictures, and even attempted a “jump” picture (we were unsuccessful).

Cindy had to run back to the ship for Dean on Duty duties, but Nikki, Brooke, and Becca decided to head out to a Mexican restaurant. YES! I can’t tell you how much I have missed the food of my patria. Days I would daydream about burritos, tacos, enchiladas, and my mother’s papas con weenies (hopefully my first dinner back in El Paso, thanks Mama!). So, when Brooke R. told us that she had gone to have Mexican food for lunch we jumped at the opportunity to have some Mexican food for dinner. Hong Kong is very safe and incredibly clean, so our walk was easy and fun. Becca was distracted by Chairman Mao watches and bought several as gifts and for herself. We shared chips and salsa (I’m salivating at the thought of them), a bucket of beer, and I had carne asada tacos. I almost cried I was so happy.

We took the moving sidewalk home and walked through malls to head back to the ship. Zara, the Spanish clothier, called my name and Brooke C. and I stopped to peruse the shop and broke off from Nikki and Becca. We caught up to them on our ferry trip back to the ship. Brooke and I decide that we were not done for the evening and grabbed a cab and headed for the night market. Unlike most night markets, this was ultra clean. I could have eaten off the street. No one yelled at me to buy anything, or tried to use guilt. It was certainly more Western than I had experienced. After buying a patch, I was ready to head home and sleep before my big trip to Beijing.

In 1997, Hong Kong was handed over to the Chinese from the British and is a special administrative region. This means that they will continue to run by their own laws, British common law, have their own court system, their own currency, etc. After going to Hong Kong and mainland China, the vibe is very different. Hong Kong is open, vibrant, and liberal. As much as I loved Beijing, I worried about bring up issues, doing something wrong, and there was an oppressive feeling in the air.

The next day, I took the bus to the airport to catch my flight for Beijing. China always reminds me of my father. Most of my life I have heard him talk about his desire to go to China. And knowing how much he loves the Olympics, I was excited to go to the last host city. The Beijing airport was significantly different than the Hong Kong airport. At Hong Kong, it was sleek and modern. In Beijing, the socialist and totalitarian atmosphere seeped into the airport. The inside was austere, with beige walls and little ornamentation. I went through immigration, I kept my eyes low and said little. After I was handed my passport, an immediate feedback survey popped out in front of me. I had to push a button stating my satisfaction level: very good, good, bad, and very bad. My mind raced to the thought that I had to put “very good”. What would they do to her if I gave her a bad review? Would they beat her? Hurt her family? My finger immediately pushed “very good”. This feeling of Big Brother watching was overwhelming.

We met our lovely tour guides, Clara and Betty, and they hurried us to the bus. The yellow and brown haze that clouded the sun was our first evidence of the pollution problem in Beijing. Our bus quickly entered the freeway; and much like L.A. in both pollution and infrastructure, had a web of freeways running through Beijing proper and its suburbs. The daylight quickly faded and the artificial lights of the city sprang to life. Our cameras clicked away as we drove through the city. And, happily, we passed the white and red Bird’s Nest and cool blue Water Cube. For those of you who are not the avid Olympic watchers as the Aguilar clan is, they are the Beijing Olympic stadium and natatorium respectively. After the two weeks I spent right up to my leaving for the trip watching Michael Phelps, Dara Torres, and the Jamaican runners it was incredible to see these buildings up close.

Our Beijing trip was not just a “sightseeing” tour (though it mainly was). We were to stay at Peking University and visit with university students. Our bus rolled into camps, which even though late at night was thick with students walking around. We were later told that students often have classes from seven in the morning to late in the evening, including Saturdays. We arrived in front of a large building, the hotel, where we were to drop off our bags before heading to dinner. The lobby was sleek with a map of the world on the wall. But this was not to be our hotel. We were walked to the back of the building into a more modest space, the international house, where international students would be staying. I was happy that these were our accommodations. Unlike many of the other “large” trips, we were not staying at a 4-star hotel. And I did get the bathtub I had been dreaming about, although the stopper did not work.

Dinner was at a restaurant at the top of a dining hall. What was to become very common, we were given two 2-liter bottles, one of Sprite and one of Coke, as well as a pot of tea. And then came the mountain of food. The guides later told me that they put in special request for food for us: sweet and sour, all muscle no innards, and a good helping of fried foods. So, though it did not happen at this meal, we were given French-fries multiple times. As much as we stuff in our mouths, it never seemed to make a dent in the mountain of food that was piled on our lazy susan. The situation became ridiculous with the enormous pot of soup that was brought at the end of the meal. It felt as if the seams of my jeans would burst.

We were then hustled to a very official room with tables and microphones. Ten Peking University students joined us, and we sat and chatted. They were asked to walk us around the university (in the dark for some reason) and show us around. I braved the cold (my clothes were not warm enough, and I had forgotten my gloves). The sites were not as interesting as my two guides: Vivienne and Vei. Vivienne was studying information management and Vei was studying pediatric medicine. They were sweet and funny women. I pressed them for information, which they happily supplied though it wasn’t always what I had asked. Both cold and tired, I begged off the tour after we had reached the school’s storied gate.

The next morning we were shuffled out to a cloisonné factory. I’m not thrilled about shopping trips, which this obvious was. Cloisonné is an art style of sculpture where a copper vase, plate, or object is formed. Then slivers of copper that have been shaped are attached to the object forming a pattern. Colors are then injected in between the slivers, filling them with different heavy metals. They are then fired in the kiln and then polished with water and stone. What comes out is gorgeous, but what a cost! The guide was a tall imposing man who barked orders at us to follow. The “factory” was run down buildings with poor lighting, inadequate workspace and toilet facilities, and dangerous working conditions. The workers’ chairs were on the verge of collapsing. All of the work was being done without gloves or a mask. There were women, who did not even turn to look at us, injecting heavy metals like iron and cobalt (red and blue, respectively) into the spaces without a mask. Can you imagine the particles that they are inhaling and bringing home with them? And then to see the polishing system, again no masks, and think about the fine particles that are entering their lungs. It was an OSHA nightmare. This, this was a sweatshop. After being paraded through the gift shop and tantalized by pretty and shiny things, we were whisked away to the Ming Tombs.

I wish I could say something thoughtful about the Ming Tombs, but like most of Chinese sites, they were lot of big spaces with nothing in them: except one room with several red coffins. But there was no signage, not even in Chinese. It was lovely if not austere. We ran into several SAS students who were in Beijing independently. As I have already written, this was the day we found out about the death of Kurt Leswing. These students had either just heard the news from us or had received phone calls/texts that morning. Everyone was in shock, and this sight was spent more reflecting on Kurt, the ship, and our trip in midst of the turmoil. Beijing felt our pain, and sent us some snowflakes to calm our spirits.

After yet another impossibly large meal, we headed to the crown jewel of our trip: the Great Wall. During preport, Prof. Patricia O’Neill disabused us of the myth that the Great Wall can bee seen from space. It is not nearly tall enough to be seen. It is quite grand nonetheless. We had been warned of the swarm of people, but the chill of the day had chased away most would-be-tourists. I did not realize the magnitude of the decent that we would be taking. It was literally straight up by stairs. And not the 6-inch stair height we are use to. No, no this was more like a foot high at least. The railing to hold on was about 6 inches up from the ground and was of no help. At the beginning there was a swarm of people, and I worried that they would knock me down and I would plunge to my death. Chinese people (or at least those in Beijing) are a pushy people. They need to get somewhere, and if you’re in the way, they will get past you. Not unlike those from New York City. Cristina (from Venezuela) and I climbed up together. The first 500 steps had no landing; they went straight up. It is no exaggeration to say that I went up and down several thousand steps. After the first pass, I was sweating, breathing hard, and afraid that the afternoon’s lunch would exit they way it had entered. Apparently running and working out everyday was not enough to scale these steps. Expect people would get to one landing rest and have a cigarette. Luckily, the ill feeling never returned.

Aside from the capers of climbing walls for hours, looking out turrets with legs and knees shaking, and hoping for the end to come, the Great Wall was incredible. The Wall undulated with the surrounding mountains and hills. The lackluster brown bricks melted into the natural environment. Because Cristina and I (joined later by Lisa, a chair of the Intercultural Ambassadors group) decided to take the long way around, there was literally no one but us on long stretches of the Wall. It was as majestic as you would imagine, though the neighboring freeway and train tracks did distract. It is weird even now to think that I walked around those steps. Who were the nameless that trekked through the mountains laden with bricks? How many lives were lost in the creation of this vast wall? I sat for a while and wondered about my life, where I was, who had been there before, who was coming after me, where would I be later in my life, etc. All those lovely existential thoughts.

Lisa, Cristina and I were the last to board the bus and we headed off for another meal. We went to another restaurant in a dining hall and were joined by some Peking University students. I begged off the “party” the students had afterwards, and retreated to a semi-bath and bed.

The next day, we headed to Tiananmen Square where most of our day would be spent. We were told that we could meet up with the group at noon for lunch or 2pm if we wanted lunch on our own. After that, we were given free reign on our day. We were told that the museum was closed due to renovation and the government buildings were closed to visitors, we decided to head to “old Beijing”. Like many “old city” centers, the facades had taken on a touristy air, but tucked behind the main roads were side streets and alleys where residents reside. They speak a Beijing language that deviates from Mandarin, though the dialect is beginning to die out. I bought a stick of crab apples that had been dipped into sugar syrup and bit into the crunchy, sticky sweetness. Mariana and I wandered around for a while, and ran into a Tibetan store. I was moved by the music emanating from the store and the beautiful Tibetan women who managed the store. I bought a lovely knit hat with three feet braids and matching mittens; they’re lovely.

We noticed that we were ten minutes from meeting the group for lunch, and I ended up telling Mariana to meet me at the obelisk, as I would run through Tiananmen Square to meet the group. That was also surreal, running through Tiananmen Square, avoiding the numerous Chinese tourists. I looked for our little blue flag of the tour guide, but it was not to be seen. Apparently the local police had not been paid off enough. After another huge lunch (this time with French-fries) we walked to the Forbidden City. We passed the first gate with the large picture of Chairman Mao, looking down at us.

The Forbidden City is vast, filled with temple after temple, with palaces, and long stretches of marble staircases and molding. Large copper vats gilded in gold (most scratched off by vandals) sat next to the large buildings were once filled with water in case of fires. The buildings were brightly colored red, with ornate roofs and awnings. I breathed profoundly to take in the beauty of this area. We were given audio aids and I listened intently to the voice in my box. Mariana and I walked to and fro from building to building. She was so happy and overwhelmed by the experience. I loved spending time with her, Cristina and Daniela. We spent the whole time speaking in Spanish; it was like being home. From there we climbed up to the pagoda at Jingshan Park, where we saw the best views of the Forbidden City. My legs shook and my knees hurt as I clambered up.
After yet another delicious and filing meal (this one with Peking Duck), we saw what had to be the best performance of my life. We went to an acrobatic show, where people jumped through hoops, three rings high; 10 people rode one bicycle; former Olympic gymnasts contorting their bodies; a hamster wheel of death, where a performer, while spinning on the wheel, jumped rope blindfolded. I cannot at all do justice to what was seen. I was frightened most of the time, watching the show through my fingers. What a way to end a night.

By the next day, I was pretty exhausted of having a planned agenda and just tired in general. Our first stop was the Summer Palace. It’s situated on a beautiful lake. The Temple of Incense sits atop a hill and peers down at the former summer home of emperors. After a long walk down the Long Corridor and some hot chocolate, I waited by the Marble Boat (a boat build of marble, commissioned by an extravagant empress, which obviously never floated) for our own trip across the lake. After another gut-filing lunch, we hit our final stop of Temple of Heaven: a gorgeous number of temples. We stood on top of the world, yelled at the Echo Wall, and enjoyed the general splendor of the Temple. Exhausted, we were ushered back onto the bus as we made our way to the airport. We landed in Shanghai, a city none of us had ever seen before, and were hurried back to the ship. Shanghai was imposing, and I spent no time in the city (I had an application to write the following day) so the most time I spent in Shanghai was in line behind other trips waiting to board the trip.

Well it’s half an hour later than I anticipated going to bed. So I will call it a night. I hope to write about Japan before I arrive in Hawai’i.

Much love, and I can’t wait to see and talk to you all
Angelica

Sticky Rice

2008-11-18T07:05:00.000-08:00

Gentle People

I am on the sea heading to Yokohama, Japan after spending two days in Kobe. This has been literally the first day off I have had since I started in August. Usually I have meetings, working on a project, etc., but today I woke up at 9:45am and spent the day eating, enjoying my friends, playing Apples to Apples, running 2.5 miles, and generally having a great time. It has been peaceful on the ship, only about 200 participants on board. Few people pass by, the gym was empty, and we all fit in one room in only one dining hall. For dinner, people dressed up, I put on my cherry red dress made of sari material I bought in Malaysia and had made in Viet Nam, and my black heels. The crew ran around, busy and proud to show off their skills. At the end of the dining service, there was a rush of cheers and applause, and the crew beamed with pride. I spent the dinner with Becca and Brooke form the Field office, Nikki B (LLC), and Garrett (Film Editor), telling and trying to solve riddles. Like:

A man is driving in the desert and he passes a bar. He drives further, then turns around and heads back to the bar. He asks the bartender for a glass of water, the bartender pulls a gun on him, and he says “thanks” and leaves. What happened? (email/post comments if you know the answer)

Now I’m sitting in my room watching Oprah 20 year celebration DVD. It’s great. Usually we have movies about the countries we are going to visit, and for some reason they are always about war, poverty, women in brothels or being beat. Generally, they’re pretty much of a downer. So, Oprah is so happy and positive, it’s a nice distraction from the horribleness.

I recognize that I’m a bit tardy with my posts, but I have had two days between ports with a lot of work in between. But I write with great alacrity so that I do not forget the incredible time in Viet Nam. The night before we ported in Ho Chi Mihn (which everyone who lives there calls Saigon) we had a going away party for Elysia, Nate (the A/V guy’s partner) who was leaving us in Viet Nam. There were festivities, dancing, and spirits. I didn’t not wake up very early the next day I usually do. We were porting very late in Saigon, so instead of having a full breakfast, we had a small continental breakfast and a brunch. I woke up and peered out the window. The usual blue water was a murky brown, and the riverbank was green and close to the ship. Unlike most ports where we pulled into a harbor from the sea, here we sailed up the river to Saigon. We arrived around 1pm and disembarked pretty quickly. As usual, I was in my cabin trying to nap when over the loud speaker the Voice says: “will the LLCs please come to the Faculty/Staff Lounge to distribute passport.” My nap is foiled again!

Nikki, Brooke C., Curtis, and I headed into town to walk around. Saigon was hot and humid, so instead of walking a few kilometers into town, we took the free shuttle into town and were dropped off in front of the Rex Hotel. We were told, that traffic in Saigon was a thing to behold. There were scooters everywhere and lights were a suggestion, lines where a distraction, and sidewalks were another area to drive. To cross the street you look for an opening (cars and motorcycles do not stop) and then walk slowly across the street. If you stop, you are more likely to be hit. You walk slowly and the vehicles swerve to avoid you. It was scary, but I trusted that I would be okay, and followed the locals.

As in all countries, I was excited to eat Vietnamese food. Brooke, the trip leader yet again, found us the Viet Nam House. It was quiet and beautiful, and the service was fast and attentive. We had spring rolls to start, and then I had a beautiful bowl of beef pho. For those of you who have not had pho (Cristobal, I thought about you the whole time!), it’s a soup of beef broth, thick noodles, and pieces of cooked steak. I squeezed in limejuice, tore up basil leaves, and tossed in bean sprouts and chile. I finished every last drop. As a perfect ending, I had fried banana and chocolate ice cream. Could anything be better?

We decided to look for tailors to have dresses and other clothing made. I took sari material that I had bought on sale in Malaysia and one of my favorite dresses to use it as a pattern. I was fitted and happy to get something made. We walked around some more, stopping at stores and picking up knick-knacks. Time was escaping us, so we hustled over to the night market. Fake bags and clothes filled each stand. But more interestingly were the cable lines above us. Unlike in the U.S. where we put most of our lines underground to hide them, in Viet Nam they are overhead. They wrap the line poles in coils and coils of lines. It is called Saigon Spaghetti. I found it all over Viet Nam.

With less than shopping and eating under our belts, we headed over to Lemon Grass for dinner. I again had pho and fried banana. Duh. I ate that probably at every meal. It was delicious. Amy’s brother Jay was there and a new person entered our happy party.

As is typical of my times in port, I did not get enough sleep and was subsequently exhausted. I reread a lot of my personal journal entries and they usually start with: “so I’m exhausted and don’t know how much I can write.” Pretty pathetic, but true. As usual, I was up at 4:15am for my 4:30am departure. Eleven students and I were heading to Ha Noi in the North of Veit Nam (Saigon is in the south) and to a village, Mau Chau, west of Viet Nam. It was a small group, and I knew that it was going to be great. I had been up the night before making copies of sudoku and crossword puzzles for the students, because we were leaving at 5am and arriving at the village at 5:30pm. It was going to be a long ride. I passed out in the plane, and arrived in Ha Noi. It was pouring rain. I mean torrential.

We were hustled onto a small bus with our tour guide, Yang. Our driver was a woman (a very big thing in these parts) and her husband was her helper. He sat on a little stool, paid for the tolls, and kept her company. They were a cute group. Yang tried to tell us about our trip, but the entire bus, except me fell asleep. We drove through Ha Noi, and the streets were flooded with brown river water hitting the sidewalks. The rain continued for the next 3 hours. We passed by rice, corn, and sugar cane fields. It was black sugar cane, which you sucked with your mouth. The rice paddies were swollen in the water. And the mountains were imposing and lush and green. It was a sight to be seen. We stopped for a quick food break. The bus driver and her husband stared at the boxed lunch we had given them: a salami sandwich, rolled up roast beef, Oreos, chocolate cake, and a boiled egg. They ate the boiled egg. After a fun time with the toilet, ah squatters, we head on to the village.

We passed stands of oranges (that are green instead of orange) and bananas. The streets began to give way, with the asphalt not making it to the sidewalks, which sometimes did not exist. Children and bikes played in the street, and people sat in their porches on their haunches (try it, it’s REALLY hard). It’s interesting to see scaffolding made of bamboo (this was common in India, Malaysia, and in China).

We went up one overpass, and the mountains turned from green to a slate grey. It was as if a pall was cast on us. We stopped at a market on top of the pass to purchase food from the Hmong people. There were pumpkins, orchids, a cilantro/parsley herb, lettuces, etc. It all looked so good. They roasted corn over burning coal. The smell was intoxicating

We continued on the way to the village and broke off from the main road. The village was a preserved village of the White Thai tribe. The White Thai are related to the people of Thailand, but unlike the people in Thailand, they stayed in Viet Nam and did not continue the journey to Thailand. The Viet people are actually also not from Viet Nam, but rather South China. You may be wondering why I spell the country Viet Nam; it is because that is how they spell it. Viet is for the Viet people, and Nam means “man”.

The village was active with Thai people, who spoke no English and little Vietnamese. But knowing the tourists would like to “experience” a small village in Viet Nam, it had lost some of its authenticity. But the people had not lost their kindness, gentleness, or their simple life. We clambered up to the second floor of the long house (the name for the shape of the house). The house is built on stilts, and the “dining room”, kitchen, and loom were downstairs and open, while the bedrooms were upstairs. In the past, the ground floor was where the animals were kept, but due to hygiene, that has since changed. It was quiet and peaceful. Chickens and roosters ran around in the street. After resting and cleaning up, we headed out for a walk in the rice paddies. It rained lightly. The views were majestic. The hills were misted over and the land and hills were verdant. We walked through narrow walkways between paddy fields. Yang caught a locust to show us it. He told us that on the paddies we needed to make sure we did not get lost, that we had to be like “sticky rice”. Giant butterflies glided by us. As we ended the walk, the walkways became less secure and I slipped and my leg fell knee deep into the rice paddy. Good thing my pants are quick drying.

Dinner was fantastic, with rice, bright greens, pork, chicken, and other delicious dishes. It rained had rained pretty steadily all day and there was no sign of stopping. In our long bedroom, we had a performance. We moved our mats out of the way, and tribal teenagers in beautiful costumes came and performed. We heard them coming, their loud drums leading the way. They danced with fans, fake trees and swords. At the end they brought out bamboo sticks to dance with and had us join them. My students laughed at my lack of coordination. After the long and tiring day we retired to our mats and zipped up in our mosquito nets.

The next morning we took another walk around the village and into the bigger city. The streets crumbled at the ends and there were no sidewalks. Water buffalo meandered on the streets, their horns pointing backward (unlike cattle) and their mouths’ filled with only one row of teeth, the top. The food market was set up in small winding paths between buildings. Fruit, vegetables, and prepared foods filled the stands. In tubs sat frogs, apparently their back legs broken so that they could not escape. We returned to a wonderful lunch and hopped on the bus for the long drive back to Ha Noi.

As we made our way over two passes, the rain started up again in earnest. And it did not stop, rather the speed and amount increased as we closed in on Ha Noi. When we entered the vicinity of Ha Noi we stopped. Cars and motorcycles were parked on the side of the street. The main street into Ha Noi was flooded. After consultation on the phone and with people on the street, Yang made an executive decision: we were to grab our things and wade through the river. On the other side, a bus would meet us to escort us to the hotel and dinner. At first I thought has joking, but when we saw that he was clearly not, a student in the back of the bus asked, “How high is the water?” Yang indicated that it was mid-thigh high. Someone else then asked Yang how far we had to walk. He said about 2 to 3 kilometers.

I slung my backpack and messenger bag on, and zipped up my raincoat. I changed into my flip-flops and rolled up pants to above my knee (still the trusty quick drying pants). We stepped out of the bus and into the steady rain and began our journey. Lots of people were walking and pushing their bikes. At first it was ankle deep. No problem. But after about 10 minutes the water began rising, and then it was really mid-thigh. And then hip high. My students worried about me in the rising water since I’m short. We would yell out “sticky rice!” to make sure that we were all together. “Sticky rice” became our phrase. Our travel in the water was epic. No student complained and we all saw it as an adventure. We passed military trucks, tourists being pushed in carts, and a very tall German man in a pink shirt who decided to take his pants off to keep them dry. The water started to fall and we thought it was over. The German had put his pants back on. But alas, we entered again into the hip-deep water. The water moved gently and was a muddy brown. We walked in the water for 2 hours. And it was night when we were picked up at an auto body shop. The owner put out stools for us and poured us tea. This is quite possibly the best day of my life. This was a real cultural experience and we were with the Vietnamese. But even though it was great for us, almost 50 people lost their lives because of the flooding. The little annoyance for us was heartbreaking for others.

After checking into the hotel we headed to dinner at a wonderful Vietnamese restaurant. I sat with wonderful women, Kassandra, Michelle, Lauren, Jessica, and Andrea and we laughed at the day. First we started off waking up in a village in Northern Viet Nam, waded through a flood, and were now having a five-course meal. It was surreal. And I of course had my trusty quick-drying pants on.

After dinner we went to see a water puppet show. Water puppets are like regular puppets, but the stage is submerged in water, and bamboo sticks that are under the water move the puppets. A monk who used the submerged rice paddies as his inspiration created the water puppet genre. Heather is a particular fan of it ;). A prophet turtle, dancing cranes, a funeral procession and more made up the show. We returned to the hotel, and Michelle and I watched Harry Potter the Order of the Phoenix.

In the morning we went and visited Ho Chi Mihn’s mausoleum and his long house. It’s very communist, but I imagine that Ho Chi Mihn would not like all the tourist, visitors, and pomp and circumstance that his grave and home are given. We then headed to the “Ha Noi Hilton”, the infamous jail that once held Sen. John McCain. In the late 19th century and early 20th century it was a prison that held Vietnamese that fought the occupation of France. Guillotines were used on rebels. In one cell they showed where prisoners were held, their ankles in restrains laying on their backs at an angle so that the blood would rush to their heads. It is disgusting what we will do to hurt other humans. How can any of us be so cruel and despicable? I had to take breaks so that I would not start bawling. There was a room at the end of the tour that showed pictures of American captives. They were hanging Christmas ornaments and playing basketball. Pictures showed Sen. John McCain visiting his old cell. It looked oddly sweet. It was interesting to see how the museum had set up the French at being hurtful, yet their sins were not displayed. At the War Remnants Museum in Saigon, they called out the Americans on the horrors that we inflicted on their country. But as it is in most countries, they show themselves as heroic and not as the perpetrators of evil and pain.

The rest of the afternoon was on our own, and Michelle, Lauren, Andrea, Heather, and Jessica specifically asked me to join them for lunch. Students usually run away from staff, especially the LLCs, but these ladies made me feel so welcomes. I enjoyed yet another bowl of pho and chocolate cake. We looked at incredible art, I only with I had the money to afford. And then looked for knick-knacks until we piled on the bus to come back to Saigon.

My last day in Saigon, I chose to spend on my own. I took the shuttle into town and had lunch at the smaller Lemon Grass restaurant. Jonah, a student from the Election’s Committee, walked in alone and joined me on my last bowl of pho. Jonah attends Pitt and is easily one of my favorite students on the ship. I headed over to pick up my dress (that to make a few alterations) and then walked around the city for a bit. I headed to the big market where I was overwhelmed by the amount of things and people yelling at me to buy stuff. So, I headed off to the post office, which is this gorgeous brick building with a colonial style inside. I walked back to pick up my dress and to have some hot chocolate and write post cards. I caught view of Brooke (field office) who was waiting for Brittany (the photographer). We tried to take the elevator to the top floor of the tallest building in Saigon but were denied. So instead we went to the Continental Hotel to toast Brooke’s dad who had spent many of night there during the war.

I hurried back to the ship to work. The last shuttle was to leave at 8:30pm. What I don’t get, is how people (students, staff, and faculty) don’t realize that they really need to get back early. So, the shuttle was blamed for arriving at 9pm, which meant everyone was getting dock time. This was the first port where LOTS of people were late, including faculty and staff. And there were some angry folks. Usually we start work about an hour and a half before on ship time to about a half hour before. This time we worked about an hour and a half after on ship time. It was a big cluster. But everyone made it on, and we were now headed to Hong Kong.

Thank you if you made it this far, I know that I have written a lot, but Viet Nam was wonderful. Like in all countries, I did not spend nearly the time I would want to spend. It was an incredible time.

It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday

2008-11-15T18:18:00.000-08:00

As some of you know, Semester at Sea lost one of its participants. In the early morning of Friday, November 7, 2008, Kurt Leswing, a student from the University of Wisconsin, passed away after being struck by a car. I did not know Kurt well, he had started attending Ambassador’s meeting a month before his death, and I had not yet been able to see his potential as a leader. Others will do a better job of talking about Kurt, his kindness and pursuits to grow as a global citizen. So, instead I will focus on my experience and my observations of the student body and shipboard community.

I had arrived in Beijing the late afternoon of November 7, 2008. The ship had learned of Kurt’s death late that afternoon as well. His ship’s ID had not been with him and Hong Kong officials had not known that he was a student with SAS. The next day, I headed from my hotel room to breakfast where I was informed that Kurt had died. I took a deep breath and then thought about how to tell our students. I couldn’t cry, but my heart ached for Kurt, his family, and the students. We gathered on the bus, which was its noisy self. People were excited; today we were going to the Great Wall of China. Mike, our trip leader, softly told the students what happened. The students were silent, hushed by sadness and shock. Dana, one of my residents cried softly. I handed her a tissue. I offered to speak to anyone who needed to. The drive to the cloisonné factory was silent. After our excursions, people were happy and laughing. But he was not far from people’s mind. Lisa, one of the chairs for the Ambassador’s intercultural committee, reminded me that he was part of our group. Dana tearfully said “We lost someone in our community.” We met students who were on independent trips who learned about it from our students or by email or text.

As we made or way back from Beijing, students noted how odd it was to not be around during the tragedy. Students felt frustrated, sad, angry, and guilty. I headed back to my cabin when I returned, but I couldn’t sleep so I sat in the hallway with my laptop. A crying student passed me, and I gave him a hug. He stated that he didn’t know Kurt well, but that it made him remember his sick father at home. Another student who had recently lost a family member said her heart went out to the family who she knew must be in pain. Students were quiet and somber. Shalina, his LLC, came up to me, and Brooke Roberts who was on duty. The three of us hugged, kissed, and cried. We broke off to go back to our rooms.

The next day, after we were all on board and ready to sail to Japan we met to inform the entire student body and answer questions we all might have. I sat in the back with other staff, and stared at my feet while I cried into my hands. The Union was silent, with occasional coughing and noses being blown. The meeting was informative, but unfulfilling. After Japan we will have a commemorative service, to say goodbye.

As those in Student Affairs know, losing a student is the worst thing that can happen. The shipboard community has come together, which is beautiful. But my heart still aches. On the links section is a link to the SAS information about Kurt’s death. I wish I could end on a happy note, instead I will with his favorite quote:

"Take the anger from your hearts. Wipe the tears from God's eyes. And live a life of love." – Archbishop Desmond Tutu at his talk with SAS in South Africa

Election at Sea

2008-11-04T22:54:00.000-08:00

Hello All

I'm taking a break from writing about my experiences in port to talk about today on the ship. As much as I love ports, the ship life is what makes me want to do this job again. Today was another day that exemplified my life for being on the ship and being in this community.

Today, Wednesday November 5th, I woke up at 7am to follow election coverage in the Union. Seven other people and the Election Committee joined me in the Union. The Committee was streaming in CNN Radio and flipping through different sites like CNN, MSNBC, and The New York Times to show off electoral maps. We are currently 13 hours ahead of Eastern time, and it would be an hour until most polls closed. I flipped through sites on my laptop, craving even innuendos about possible outcomes. As the time creeped closer to 8am, more people shuffled into the Union. We heard that Vermont had gone to Obama, and Kentucky to McCain. The people in the center of the Union clapped and cheered for Obama, while the people on the right side cheered for McCain. Polls rolled in slowly, as I sat with fellow Democrats in the front of the room. The pace picked up at 11am, Virginia and North Carolina were being contested, but Pennsylvania had gone for Obama while Georgia and South Carolina going to McCain. Most of the room cheered as the states started coming in for Obama.

Tracy Ehlers, the faculty leader for the Elections Committee, reminded all students that they should go to class if they had it, but it was not enthusiastic and obviously said to just serve as a reminder and not as a suggestion. A streaming feed of MSNBC was piped in after some not so gentle reminders for the shipboard to community to abstain from using the internet. Larry Butler, a faculty member looked scared and anxious; he cupped his hands in his face and rubbed his temples. People were giddy with excitement. Florida, surprisingly, was a contested state. Ohio went blue and I was certain that Obama would win. People cleared out for a quick lunch, but I stayed put, watching from the TVs in the Union. Heather had come up to me in the Union and hugged me and cried with happiness and excitement. It was wonderful how excited people were

The event began again in earnest at 11:15pm, as more states began to roll in. Obama was at 207 electoral votes, with Hawaii and California still waiting to be counted. The Republican contingent, unfortunately, did not return with the numbers they had at the beginning and soon left the liberal festivities. Then Oregon and Washington came in, and the room erupted with cheers when MSNBC called the election. People started singing the National Anthem. The Election Committee played “God Bless the USA”, then Will.i.am’s “Yes We Can”. Heather, Brooke R., Amy Hill, Cindy, and I sat and cried. Even Garrett sneaked some tears. We were so proud, happy, and relieved.

We clapped appropriately during McCain’s speech, appreciative that he wanted unity and reminded us all that we were all Americans.

Then Obama came on stage; the Union erupted! Again, we cried and sang and clapped. To think that we will have our first Black president! That our First Lady, like Hillary was, will be an educated and strong woman, and a woman of color! Hooray! It was a great day.

I’m now excited and tired. My eyes burn from crying. I’m coming down from my high, but my pride and happiness has yet to dissipate.

Congratulations America! Si Se Puede!!!

Lazy Days in Langkawi

2008-10-29T02:18:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-28T01:42:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-26T08:27:00.000-07:00

“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

2008-10-22T18:19:00.001-07:00

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

2008-10-19T10:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-18T02:19:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-07T11:19:00.000-07:00

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

Holy #$%*! I’m in Africa (a.k.a Be the Zebra)

2008-09-24T02:12:00.000-07:00

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.

Crossing the Atlantic

2008-09-13T15:02:00.000-07:00

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

Welcome to Brazil

2008-09-07T13:34:00.001-07:00

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….

Neptune Day

2008-09-07T13:32:00.000-07:00

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.

Crossing the Equator

2008-09-05T08:29:00.000-07:00

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…

Skirting Around Venezuela, Guyana, Suriname, and French Guinea

2008-09-01T10:45:00.000-07:00

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...

Leaving the Bahamas

2008-08-30T14:48:00.000-07:00

This post was written last night, but due to problems with internet service, I could not post today. Take care all!

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My very patient friends, I wish that blogging was easier right now, but we were so packed with getting ready to pick up students in the Bahamas and now having them all on the ship (around 700!) my schedule is a bit packed, but I anticipate that very soon I will be able to spend more time and thought on blogs and keeping you informed – and hopefully interested in our journey.

We left Norfolk on Tuesday, August 26, and traveled for two days, filled mostly with meetings, but also great times talking about how excited we are for the voyage and for meeting our students over dinner on the back deck of the 6th deck dining hall. There we watched the sunrise for breakfast and enjoyed the peacefulness of lunch and dinner. What has been particularly wonderful is meeting the crew. Many we know by name, and they knew our names before we arrived. It’s daunting to learn their names, but they are so vital to the success of this group, and to find out the real scoop both on ship and on port (they know where the great places to eat and cheap places to buy phone cards).

We arrived in the Bahamas in the afternoon on Thursday, August 28. It was a balmy day, and most of us were donning shorts or summer dresses. After our meetings a few of us took off to sight see in town. Curtis Hoover (LCC), Amy Hill (LCC) and Brook Cashman (Asst. Field Office Coordinator) and I walked around town. It was definitely the slower season for Nassau, and all the stores were closed when we arrived and it was difficult to actually spend our time. At least for me, I was pretty exhausted, and a nap sounded wonderful and the heat and humidity sapped my energy. I headed back early to grab a quick bite before our parent reception.

This was an incredible fair. Chocolate Taj Mahals and Great Walls. Hundreds of parents flowed in to see the new home for their students. I was lucky to speak to so many parents and let them know that they were in good hands.

Afterwards, a few of the staff headed back into town to toast our new trip. A few of us not knowing where to head, decided to head to a rather popular, touristy joint (which will remain nameless to protect the innocent). Unfortunately this meant seeing future students getting as drunk as possible and several parents looking on with glee or looking on with pleasure. That weirded me out, but I was told by a staff member who is a millennial (i.e. someone born after 1981) and that was what she would do. I’ve never seen my parents as my friends, but I guess the time is ‘a changing. After a quick drink, we headed home to wake up bright and early for the students to board.

Today has been amazing, great, overwhelming, and a little exhausting. I feel pretty good about knowing most of my students and where they are from. I even met a student, Erika, from El Paso who is at Stanford, which makes me SO happy. We’re hoping to have a Stanford social and an El Paso (low key and inclusive) to get to know each other. But everyone is so special in their own way (both positive and challenging) and I think I will have a great group of students. I’m not sure if I have mentioned, but instead of the typical floor situation, we have decks. And we are in charge of partial parts of the decks, which we call “seas”. Mine is the Bering Sea, which is pretty hilarious since I’m always cold :D.

We left the Bahamas about two hours ago, and people were up top hooting and hollering. Parents waved from the pier and some even made signs for their students. It was so wonderful. We have some last meetings tonight. So I will sign off until tomorrow…

Almost at the Bahamas!

2008-08-28T08:59:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone

What an exciting and overwhelming few days this has been. Though we only alighted on Monday, August 25 and departed Tuesday, August 26, so much has happened and we are happily awaiting our students who will be meeting us in Nassau in the Bahamas.

Most staff and faculty arrived mid-day on Monday, excited and giddy with the prospect of sailing around the world. The ship (not boat as we are constantly reminded) is massive, impressive and daunting. We entered the gangway and our luggage followed us up later.

My cabin, though modest, is incredible, the best part of which is my large window. I wake up with beautiful sunlight and bright blue waves rolling majestically outside. I have yet to spot any creatures of the deep as of yet, either from my room, decks, or gym, but I have heard that someone on the elliptical machine saw dolphins swimming by the ship yesterday.

Our faculty and staff are incredible to say the least, and it will be difficult to not want to sneak into classes to listen to these formidable teachers. In particular, there is a professor out of the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill who is teaching a course on comparative education that I’m hoping to sit in at least a few classes. It’s hard to pull myself away from school!

Leaving the port, or embarkation, is beyond the superlatives that were so readily used: amazing! Incredible! Unbelievable! It was a totally overwhelming experience with a mix of emotions. One many wanted to share with someone the cared about, and so, many were on the phones with loved ones. We left the Norfolk harbor around 9pm, and the darkness the water in the bay was thrilling and imposing. My fellow staff members (they are our great leader Cindy Z., Nikki, Brooke, Curtis, Amy, Bill, Shalina, Neal, and Tosh) and I headed to the Faculty and Staff lounge, on the top deck facing forward to toast the beginning of our voyage. It is an incredible space with full windows and you can watch as the ship marches on.

I will not bore you with the details of our meetings, but as we are all new, they were intensive and now we are set and prepared to facilitate and create an incredible experience for our students and for ourselves. All that is lacking is a little breathing time for us to, as at least the movie Elizabeth Bennett states, “admire the general splendor”.

As I write this we are closing in on the Bahamas, and parents will be boarding this evening to acquaint themselves to the place their children will be living for the next 4 months and hopefully alleviate their fears. Many of us hope to have a short time to at least hop on land and see the Bahamas.

As my time runs away from me, I want to say thanks for reading again. I love each one of you. Joy, this is pretty amazing. And David Pe, Edgar says “hi”.

Please comment I’d love to hear from you.

PS. I will try to post pictures really soon!

Shoving off from Virginia

2008-08-25T07:40:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Norfolk, VA late afternoon, and after a quick cab ride from the airport to the hotel and a short exploration of the downtown area (essentially empty due to it being a Sunday evening) I settled down in my hotel room. My two friends, Bill Heinrich and Heather Ricks, recently married, shared the room with me. Bill will also be working on the ship as a Living Learning Coordinator like myself, and we worked together at UCSC for two years.

Luckily, our hotel is poised two blocks from the ship, but we still are not sure how we will manage to take all our luggage from the hotel to the ship. Possibly, a short cab ride. We will be boarding around noon and getting our cabins ready for an hour or so. Training for our positions will begin tonight, but we’re not heading out of port until Tuesday night. We arrive Thursday, August 28th in the Bahamas where we have a parent reception, pick up the students and then head out for Brazil. It’s exciting to know that we are less than two weeks from being in Brazil. Woo hoo!!!

Unfortunately, I was reminded today that I forgot to bring a watch. As an ardent anti-watch user, I have relied on my cell phone or not cared enough to need to know the time. This time around, though, I will need to make it back to the ship at specific times, so it may behoove me to procure one on the voyage.

We are not certain as of yet, our access to the internet. So my apologies if you do not hear from me for a few days. Have a wonderful rest of the week, and you will hear from me soon!

Welcome Aboard!

2008-08-13T09:55:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone!

Thank you for signing in to my blog. I am so incredibly excited that you want to share my experience on the Semester At Sea (SAS) trip! I've tried to make my blog as user friendly as possible. If you look to the right column you will see several links to interesting sites. You can watch my progress around the world through my Google map and the SAS map. Also, if you would like to send mail (but no packages!), there addresses and Airmail dates on the mail link.

As of right now, I don't have much to report. I'm getting ready to head out of El Paso, TX for Norfolk, VA very soon where we will begin training and start heading off to the Bahamas to pick up students.

Again, thank you for checking out my site. I will be sending out a weekly email with my blog link as a reminder to check out my blog. As I stated in my email, if you would rather not receive an email, just let me know and I will take you off.

Take Care!
Angelica

Map of My Travel

2008-08-09T13:52:00.001-07:00

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