Just when I thought...

Tallinn, Estonia to Riga, Latvia

Just when I thought I was immune to the overpriced cabs that Tallinn is known for...I got turned around on my way to the bus station this morning. The trolley stop wasn't where I left it and, feeling a bit pressed for time, I panicked. So I grabbed a cab. 10 Euros later for what would have been a 1.60 Euro trolley ride, I was at the bus station. But the cab driver was so nice, telling me about his daughter who's in university studying business, pointing out his church when we drive by ("600 years old!," he tells me.), and telling me how, since his divorce, he just lives with his cat. So how can I be mad? Besides, I did grab a cab at the taxi stand outside of Old Town so, really, what did I expect?

My bus ride to Riga was uneventful, the way good bus rides ought to be. I was pleasantly surprised to find that my hostel was a hop, skip, and a jump from the bus station. In fact, I found it quite by accident. That's how close it was. I like to think this made up for the 10 Euro cab ride from earlier.

Now I'd like to preface to say that, had I been fresh off the plane from the States, anxious to start a new adventure, that I'd probably give these places a more fair shake. But at the moment, I feel like I'm simply catching up on all of the things I missed over the course of the last 3 months in Greece. So after wandering around the art nouveau district, checking out the opera house, and taking a stroll through the park to check out all of the Christmas trees up for display, I ate chain restaurant Chinese food and saw a movie. No, not some Latvian film, a good old fashion American (well, probably British) movie. And it was glorious. This, only 24 hours after enjoying one of my first meals in the Baltics at McDonalds. But that's the joys of travelling by yourself, you can eat as many McRoyals with cheese as you want to and no one is there to judge you.

"Now it's really Christmas!"

Tallinn, Estonia

I was getting some information from the guy who worked the front desk at the hostel I was staying at when I look out the window and see snow falling like there's no tomorrow. The guy commented "Now it's really Christmas!" And he was right. Every place, even countries that were cold, dark, and Communist not too many decades before look Christmasy covered in a blanket of freshly fallen snow.

Tallinn itself is really a nice city. The Old Town takes you back in time to medieval times. I half expected a knight in shining armor to ride by on a horse, but no such luck. It's a city where parents bundle their kids up in snowsuits and pull them around the town square in sleds and where they duck behind corners of historical buildings avoiding what I presume to be the perpetual snowball fight with their young children. The whole scenario was really quite adorable.

I spent hours just wandering around the Old Town. I got lost looking for a couple of specific things and finally gave up on them because I kept running into the same church even though I could have sworn I was going in opposite directions each time. But that's the joy of getting lost. You find other really great stuff in the process.

The Christmas market was in full swing in the town hall square. There was a giant Christmas tree set up in the middle of the square and vendors were selling everything from hot wine to wooly mittens. And what I thought was a loud speaker blasting American Christmas music, turned out to be a van with a PA system driving all over town spreading Christmas cheer loud enough for all to hear. There are lots of things that other countries do better than the US, but I'd like to argue that Christmas music isn't one of them.

I walked atop the old city walls, finally found Saint Catherine's passage-this really cool part of the old town with arches towering over the walk ways, ate marzipan from the oldest cafe in Tallinn, make the trek up to the Seaplane Harbor Museum to see the Titanic exhibit (I highly recommend this by the way!), and enjoyed one last stroll through the Christmas market complete with a "Christmas Dinner" comprised of sausage and sauerkraut.

Some fun facts about Tallinn:
-It's the first city in Europe to offer free public transportation to its residents.
-They charge for ketchup at McDonalds.

Tour De Balkans Take 1

Thessaloniki, Greece to Tallinn, Estonia

My flight out of Thessaloniki was indicative of my time in Greece. 100 things drive me completely up a wall and then one nice little thing happens for me to think, "Ok, maybe this isn't so bad." For the first time since September, I wasn't flying Ryan Air and I actually got to choose my seat. I was all ready to settle into the window seat and crash, but there was an older couple occupying the middle and my beloved window seat. They gave me a bit of grief about me asking them to move (Ok so maybe me saying, " 'A' means WINDOW!" in that loud, you don't speak fluent English so I'll treat you like you're dumb kind of way wasn't the best way to win them over, but it had been a long 24 hours. More on that later.), but eventually we came to some sort of unspoken understanding.  I was fast asleep when the old lady pokes me in the arm to wake me up so I wouldn't miss dinner. (Airplane moussaka! Yum!) And then after her club soda exploded all over the front of her, I gave her my napkin. Damn it, Greece, just when I was done with you there you go redeeming yourself.

When I arrived, based on the travel guide, I was already anticipating being overcharged for a cab. I had mentally prepared myself for just such an occasion. At the airport, I got into a cab with a guy that, in another scenario, looked like he might have been a hit man. But the Phil Collins blasting from the radio put my mind at ease. We initially stopped at the wrong address and just when I thought he might leave me for dead in a dark alley at the wrong address, he realizes his error, makes me get back in the car and drives me the extra 50 feet down the street to the correct address. All for the bargain price of 10 Euros. Which is exactly how much Lonely Planet said it should cost sans rip off. So far things in Estonia are on the up and up. 

For the record, buying a one way ticket to Estonia may be one of the crazier things that I've ever done. Just wanted to put that out there. But the adventure continues...

Wait for it...

Greece...where do I begin? I have at least 5 posts started that I never finished.

Some day I might finish them. Until then, let's catch up on my trip to the Balkans shall we?

Give me a word, any word, and I will show you how the root of that word is Greek.

Thessaloniki, Greece

Greece, like any place else, has it's fair share of idiosyncrasies. I read a quote some place that, of course, now I can't find that says something along the lines of  "There is far more to write about a place having only visited there an hour than if living there 10 years." That was not at all eloquently written and should not be quoted, but you get the idea. Basically, as a new comer, you notice things that people who live in a place take for granted, don't notice any more, or don't know any other way. Greeks haven't know it any other way since the advent of their civilization almost 4,000 years ago. My guess is that, in some respects, not much has changed while in other respects, the times certainly are a-changing.

Economy: So let's talk about the elephant of a financial crisis in the room. Greece, as you know, has been in a dire economic state for the past several years. The last time I was here was in 2010 with Semester at Sea and at first glance, things don't look that different. The ruins are still ancient, the pastries are still delicious, and dinner still takes four hours. To an outsider, things don't look so bad. But talk to the people and you will understand. Honestly, cab drivers are the best resource. They'll tell you anything you want (or don't want) to know. One cabbie told us the story of the mayor of Thessaloniki who embezzled millions of Euros from the city. He has spent the last year or two in jail, but the general consensus is that he may not stay there as long as he should. One cabbie also told us how the Greek economy is going down like the Titanic. It's guaranteed to be an interesting case study for all of the econ majors out there.

Old Greek Men: Old Greek men have mastered the art of retirement quite nicely. I love how they sit for hours upon end at a cafe, sipping frappes, with no place else to be. I also love how they stroll arm in arm down the street. Here is is completely normal for two men to walk with their arms around each other's shoulders. (Many men in the States wouldn't be caught dead doing this for fear that people might question their sexuality. Get over yourselves, guys.) But my absolute favorite thing about old Greek men is their use of komboli, or Greek worry beads. They look like a beaded bracelet with a long tail. They look similar to prayer beads but actually have no religious significance. Old men walk around fidgeting with these beads, be it out of worry or out of habit. Each have their own way of handling the beads, creating their own unique rhythm. Even in the hustle and bustle of the streets of downtown, if you listen carefully, you can hear the subtle click clack of worry beads.

Old Greek Women: Old Greek women always some place to be, always have someone to feed, and always have something to do, probably because all of the old Greek men are too busy sipping frappes at the cafe. And they cross themselves every time they pass a church, which is a lot. It almost looks like some type of upper body aerobics class on some of the public bus routes.

Coffee: The Greeks are serious about their coffee. On cafe menus you can even order a Greek coffee, which I've heard has a rather sledgey texture to it. Yum! Fun fact: Greece is also the birthplace of the frappe. At first I thought this would be similar to a Starbucks-style frappucino, but alas it is Nes Cafe instant coffee mixed with milk, sugar, and water and then whipped to create a froth on top. Nes Cafe is frowned upon in the US, but it's perfectly acceptable in Europe, especially in Greece. I've heard that Greece makes their own Nes Cafe in house to ensure that it's up to snuff. While I did try to love the frappe, I prefer the freddo cappucino, the frappe's better tasting, more expensive Italian cousin.

A Letter to Parents Everywhere

Today we dropped my little sister off for her freshman year of college. It was a whirlwind of emotion for everyone involved. Even my sister, a self proclaimed sociopath with no emotion (I recommended that she not open with that when introducing herself to people on campus), broke down a couple of times at the thought of being separated from all of her high school friends, of moving away from home for the first time, and the overwhelming possibilities that lie ahead.  All in all, she is a well-adjusted kid, smart and sociable, with a heart of gold. I have absolutely no worries about her ability to be successful both in college and in life. (We always make jokes that my younger brother, on the other hand, is a different story.  I'm about 93% sure that he's going to be fine.) And she's only attending college two hours away from home so it will be easy for her to get home whenever she wants. This reminded me of the 150 freshmen that, in three short weeks, will be boarding a plane headed for Greece, their first semester of college, and the great unknown and the parents that would be dropping them off not on campus, but at an airport in the States. (The fact that I am largely responsible for these 150 17 and 18 year olds embarking on their first semester of college in a foreign country hasn't escaped me .)

Watching all of these parents and first time college kids interact, got me thinking about what I'd like to have said to my own parents in that situation and to all of the parents entrusting me (and 8 other staff members) with their babies this fall.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Congratulations! The day has arrived! You did it! I'm off to college!

At graduation,  I received all of these words of congratulations, but I'd like to congratulate you. You made it! Yes, I'm the one who earned the grades, spent hours at after school activities, and submitted the college applications, but I couldn't have done it without your help. You taught me the value of hard work, the difference between right and wrong, and the power of kindness. And for that I am grateful.

But now comes the hard part... moving out for the first time, trusting me to make the right choices, and helping me learn from those choices even when I don't always make the right ones.  

Now I'll always be your kid, but the thing is, I'm not a kid. I'm an adult. Or at least I'm trying to figure out how to be one. And while it will be difficult for both of us, you have to let me figure things out even if that means I stumble a bit. When you say, "Don't forget to pack your jacket," I hear, "I don't trust you to pack for yourself." What you're actually saying is, "I checked the weather and I don't want you to be cold." When you say, "Be careful" every time I leave the house, I hear, "I have irrational fears about your safety." What you're actually saying is, "I'm your mom and I worry about you. And that doesn't stop just because you're 18." When you do things for me that I need to figure out how to do for myself, I hear, "I don't trust you to do this yourself." What you're actually saying is, "I'm just trying to help." Even though it's not always easy, I guess we both could do better at saying we mean and really listening to each other.

So the time has come. You taught me to fly and I'm ready to leave the nest. But remember, even though I'm moving to my own nest soon, your nest will always be home.

Love,

Your College Freshman

Revelations from the Road

As many of you may (or may not) know, I recently accepted a position working for yet another study abroad program. This time, I'll be living and working in Greece with 150 first semester freshmen. I'll be a renaissance woman of sorts, serving as an instructor for a global experience class, a residence hall director, and student activities coordinator. Students in the program study abroad their first semester, then begin classes on their home campus in January. All in all, it's a pretty crazy adventure for anyone to sign up for, let alone an 18 year old in their first semester of college. So of course, the job would be right up my alley.

After I finished training for said job, I hit the open road, on a quest to explore more of the north east. I drove almost 1500 miles through 8 states over the course of 7 days. It was actually quite lovely. I drove through the New England countryside, stopping for a hike or ice cream at my leisure, staying with a few friends along the way. In college, I used to be able to drive 1500 miles in one sitting. 10 years later, however, is a different story. Since I forgot the aux cord for my ipod and was at the mercy of rural radio stations, I had a lot of time to think.

1. Adventure is guaranteed. I accepted the job in Greece only a few short weeks before I was set to move to New Orleans and start teaching. I had taken all of my tests, paid all of my fees, read all of the required pre-reading (well most of it), and was set to start on my grand adventure of molding young minds. Several weeks before, I requested to change my primary certification to special education. When I got word that my request had been granted, I felt a certain sense of calm. It felt like the right thing to do at the right time in my life. (A few weeks later, seeing my cousin with Cerebral Palsy with all of his amazing friends, classmates, and teachers at his high school graduation party affirmed that this was, in fact, where I should be. This revelation would not have occurred had I actually went to New Orleans when I was supposed to, as the graduation party took place after I was scheduled to head south.)

I definitely have feelings of loss and regret over not teaching this fall. I feel like I am cheating on kids I've never met in a school I've never been to. But I think there are lesson to be learned no matter which classroom I'm in this fall, be it in the Big Easy or in the Mediterranean.

2. New York is not the be all, end all. After grad school, I wanted to move back to New York so much it almost hurt. While those feelings have eased up a bit over the last couple of years, I still had it in my head that New York was where I would eventually end up. During my tour d'north east, I was excited to get back to the Big Apple. Stepping off the bus at the Port Authority, instead of feeling like home, New York felt like stress. Schlepping all of my worldly possessions all over the city on public transportation in 90 degree heat with a millions people doing whatever they could to push past me on the sidewalk was not my idea of a good time. Talking with a friend from grad school who now works full time in the city summed it up nicely, "As you get older, you get tired of putting up with the bullshit." And he's exactly right. While New York was a great place to live and go to grad school in my mid-20's, several years later, it definitely lost some of its appeal. So I've amended my "Must move back to New York" rule to include, "If I do end up back in New York, that's great, but I can't live below 72nd Street because people are crazy. And if I don't end up back in New York, that's okay too."

It's Like Coming Home

Re-entry. Re-adjustment. Transition. Coming home. I have been thinking about these things for several weeks, even before returning home it was my job on the ship to think about these things on behalf of our students. I would argue that we didn't dedicate enough time or effort to these things on behalf of our shipboard community, but I would also argue that I didn't dedicate enough time or effort to these things on behalf of myself.

Transitioning home after such a cliché but aptly labeled life-changing experience is really challenging, to say the least. For the past few weeks since arriving home, I have been trying to pinpoint exactly what it is that makes it so difficult. Yes people's lives went on at home. Big things happened, they really did. But I think it boils down to a lack of understanding. Of understanding something they can't possibly understand. Of understanding something they really may not have an interest in understanding.  And therein lies the problem. The real question is, "How do you explain the inexplicable?"

Past the first night at home, I haven't sat down with anyone at home to try to explain just how this experience has changed my understanding, my perspective, and my life. I haven't posted any pictures on facebook and I haven't shared any pictures with anyone at home. The farthest I got was looking up brochures for parents on their college student transitioning home after being abroad. I contemplated printing out a copy for my parents. As a grown adult, you wouldn't think this would be necessary, but I don't think it's a bad idea.

The only solution I have come to is to keep moving, keep learning, keep exploring. This may not be the best long-term solution, but for the foreseeable future, that's the best I got. 

Get Me Outta Here

Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Ahh, travel. Like everything else, it has its good days and its bad days. Today was a far cry from that first day off the ship in Japan where Christine and I were trying to navigate the labyrinth of subways and I told her elatedly, “Figuring it out is the best part!” Today, however, is a different story.

After getting off to a late start (and getting stuck in the revolving glass doors on the way out of the port terminal while simultaneously getting a family with four small children stuck along with me), I was off. My Semester at Sea journey had come to an end. Being too cheap to pay 60 Euros for a cab to the airport, I decided to take a quick cab ride down the street so as not to have to have to carry my luggage to the train station. Mind you, I could see the train station from the port terminal. 8 Euros and at least one illegal u-turn later, I arrived at the train station. At the station, the ticket machine didn’t take my debit card (or cash for that matter). Of course. Why would it? When I asked the repair man fixing the turnstile where I could purchase a ticket with cash, he directed me to the ticket booth…on the opposite site of the station meaning I had to go outside and around with all of my earthly possessions. This is when “tired from processing a new country every two days, packed more than I can carry and I think I may cry” girl made her first appearance of the morning. He let me in through the open turnstile and 4 Euros later, I was on my way to the airport.

Getting luggage on and off the train proved to be a bit of an ordeal. I had in tow a rollerboard carryon that tethered to another suitcase and also a rolling duffle bag I bought at Coscto. Note to self: repeatedly yanking on a suitcase that is stuck on the step of the train and cursing “Come on, you piece of…” under your breath over and over does not work. But thanks to the kindness of strangers, my bags and I all made it onto the train.

Upon arrival at the airport, the issue of the luggage again reared its ugly head. Online, it made it sound like there were luggage carts readily available once you got off of the train, but when I arrived, there were none to be found. I saw at least five ladies pushing just their purse in one of these carts. After breaking a sweat more than once hauling all of my worldly possessions all over Amsterdam, I wished every single one of those ladies bad travel juju. Trust me, they earned it.

At the terminal, it became something of a mystery in order to find the check in counter. Everything at the Amsterdam airport was assigned, what appeared to be, an arbitrary number. I found a screen with check in numbers. I had to find my flight number, then that flight had a designated check in counter. Check in 20. What the heck did that mean? What about just having signs for Icleandair? Too easy? After using my imaginary Dutch decoder ring to solve the mystery, I finally found the ominous check in 20 where I was told that my bags were over the weight limit. Every time I use that damn duffle bag, I am over the weight limit. Every time. That is what I get for buying a bag that could probably hold half the contents of a Costco store. I kept pulling things out of my Buick-sized duffle bag and when I had a sufficient pile of dirty laundry and other essentials weighing what I hoped would be at least 5 kilograms on the floor in front of the airport counter, the attendant asked, “Now where are you going to put all that?” When I pointed to my rollerboard, she politely told me that then my carryon luggage would then be too heavy. So I piled everything back in and forked over the overweight baggage fee.

At security, I read all of the signs, followed the protocols accordingly, and still was asked to unpack half of my suitcase and put it in a plastic bin before putting everything through the x-ray machine (laptop, charger, liquids, camera, pretty much anything with a battery…). Sir, a word of advice: if you make that clear on the signage, people would have to unpack everything on the conveyor belt. Just saying.

Almost every interaction I had with another human being this morning resulted in me saying, “You want me to pay how much?!” and then me mumbling to myself, “Get me out of here.” But on the upside, the lady sitting next to me on the plane pulled out a Walkman. Not an iPod or even a Discman, but an honest to goodness Walkman. I was rather impressed until she shooed me off of my own try table during takeoff (as I was writing this) and told me, “You must have this up. For safety.” And proceeded to put the tray table up for me. What does she know about safety? She had her Walkman on during the entire safety briefing. A few minutes after takeoff, she points to the tray table and tells me, “It’s probably okay now.” What are you, the tray table police? My response to her, “I have been on a place before.” Lady, your walkman just got a lot less cool. 

Coffee Shop or Coffee Shop?

Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Amsterdam itself is a really cool city, with winding city streets intertwined with a series of canals. Did I mention the bikes? Lots and lots of bikes. I’d even go as far to say that pedestrians don’t in fact have the right of way in Amsterdam. Bikes do. And for someone is who is anything but an avid cyclist (see post from South Africa above), this was a bit troublesome for me.

I did all of the standard Amsterdamy things: the Anne Frank House, saw the Flower Market, and meandered through the old city. The jury, however, is still out on the Dutch people. Based on the ones I interacted with anyway. At one point, I had my map out, trying to get my bearings, and a guy asked me, “Do you know where you are?” Now that is a loaded question. Like at this exact moment or in life?  The second guy to help me with directions then proceeded to ask me for money. I gave him two Euros. Then he asked me for one more. Sir, if you knew how much money I’d given to people in New York City, you’d be a) a little more grateful and b) shocked at my current generosity.

The interactions I had with a couple of the shopkeepers weren’t that much better. I was burying stamps and postcards and I thought I heard the woman behind the counter asked me, “Inside Europe?” And I responded, “International. United States” Well apparently she has asked, “Outside Europe?” because then she proceeded to tell me that “Yes, the United States is international” and that in Europe there are different countries that require different postage not like sending mail between the states in the US. Really? Is that how it works, please tell me more about these countries you speak of.

At the second shop, I was buying at tshirt that was advertised at 15 Euros at the 8 other tourist shops I’d been in. I put the shirt on the counter and the guy says, “20 Euros.” When I told him I thought it was 15, he tells me, “Okay, 17.” I tell him that every other shop on this block is selling it for 15 (and I’m pretty sure he had it signed at 15 as well), he begrudgingly takes 15.

On the upside, the guy who sold me a falafel for lunch was really quite pleasant. 

Nothing that a Belgian waffle won't fix

Antwerp, Belgium

I’m done. My brain is just done. If having six days to research, explore, and then process a country during the full semester seemed like a daunting task, try doing it in two days or even one. I’m ready to figure out a new place and have that be how it’s going to be for awhile.

I was getting disappointed in myself as  a traveler, not out exploring from sun up to sun down, but then after a sweet and a coffee at a café in the town square, I realized that this in and of itself is traveling. There’s no one way to do it. (This is not the first time a revelation has come after a snack break.) And it’s okay to go home in between and regroup. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. 

Thank you for helping to keep Paris clean

Paris, France

I spent the last few days in Paris, arguably one of my favorite places. It’s such a cliché place to love, but I don’t care. And what they say about Paris in the spring, it’s all true. It really is beautiful. When Maureen and I were here last year, it was the end of February, cold, rainy, and still awesome. So imagine a bit warmer weather, people out and about, and flowers in bloom. I spent two days just wandering around the city, sitting on a park bench watching the world go by, stopping to eat a crepe whenever the moment hit. I really just love Paris.

The real accomplishment was successfully navigating the city with three children under the age of nine in tow. I had come along to Paris with the K family to afford Mr. and Mrs. K the opportunity to have a night out in one of the most romantic cities in the world. I was a bit apprehensive, as usually we are confined to  the ship during our time together, but things went surprisingly well. We spent the entire afternoon in the Tuileries, a lovely garden at the end of the Champs-Elysses. I insisted that no trip to Paris was complete without a ride on the carousel. They were hesitant at first, but ended up loving it. I bought two sets of tickets and the guy behind the counter gave me a third one for free. We repeated this process again and they rode six times. They also have these trampolines (or jumping carpets as the French call them) set up in the middle of the park. You pay two Euros and kids can jump for five whole minutes. The boys convinced me that buying two tickets was a really great idea, and seeing no downside to expending more energy, I agreed. (Too bad the trampoline guy wasn’t as generous as the carousel guy.) Sometime that day, the two oldest boys started collecting used Metro tickets that they found on the ground. It was a great distraction, but it was also a great distraction. Especially when walking to and from…anywhere. There was one point at the metro station on the way home that I thought they were going to get trampled trying to pick up used tickets right outside the turnstile as people were trying to get in. Luckily, all injuries were avoided. While we were at the jumping carpets, one of the boys was rifling through the landscaping, picking up old tickets and one of the fathers said, “You know those aren’t good right?” When I explained that it was just an impromptu hobby, he said, “Thank you for helping to keep Paris clean.” A good distraction (most of the time) and picking up liter. It’s a win-win. 

Are you enjoying yourself?

Lisbon, Portugal

This afternoon, I did a Segway tour of Lisbon. I had never been on a Segway before, but it proved to be a really cool way to explore the city. The first time I ever saw them was at Epcot at Disney World. They look so futuristic to me. Now, mind you, my first memories of Epcot from when I was there as a kid, are of Mickey and Minnie wearing space suits. While they have toned down the space age-ness a bit, I still associate all things Epcot with the age of hovercrafts and life on Mars. Upon getting on the Segway for the first time, I said, “Look at me! I’m in the future!”

Riding a Segway requires a different kind of balance, one I wasn’t entirely comfortable with until towards the end of the tour. I was only moderately terrified that I was going to go plummeting down a hill, with the Segway toppling after me. At one point, one of the tour guides even asked me, “Are you enjoying yourself?” The concentration it took to prevent that from happening showed on my face and, at times, was more important than taking in the sights.

After the Segway tour, I meandered around downtown. I wanted to take one of the famous trolleys to the top of the city and take in the view. Partly because I had already bought a postcard of said trolley and partly for the view. I saw a trolley stop and waited about 15 minutes. I was ready to give up on the wait and just walk up, but I told myself “Five more minutes.” No less than two minutes later, a taxi stopped at the red light, a lady opened the door and proceeded to vomit less than five feet in front of me. Considering how narrow the sidewalks are in Lisbon, it’s nothing short of a miracle that she didn’t puke on my shoes. When the light turned green, she shut the door, and they left just as quickly as they came. Taking that as a sign that maybe this trolley wasn’t meant to be, I walked down the block to see if there was another stop in view. Seeing none, I walked back to my original stop. I saw a trolley approaching and was excited that my patience had paid off until the electrical wire thing at the top of the car came unattached and started sparking. Not wanting to risk my life, I let that trolley keep on keeping on. By this time, quite a crowd of people with similar view-seeking ideals had formed at the stop. No less than 74 people attempted to get on the next trolley car that stopped next. The trolley car probably only holds about 30 people so I waited for the next one and then somehow managed not to pay. And the view really was lovely. I guess the third time’s a charm. 

Is 20,000 camels a lot?

Fes, Morocco

At Christine’s recommendation, I signed up for the Semester at Sea trip to Fes. I had heard wonderful things about the city and figured I’d give it a shot.

Customs didn’t take nearly as long as it did last time, so I was in a pretty pleasant mood. Unfortunately, my other travelling companions were not. Traveling with seniors has been quite the adventure. Some of them have been quite lovely and many of them, well, have not. Since we spent most of the day on the bus, much of my travel notes from the day include what people chose to complain about. And since we had so much time on the bus (about four hours each way for a 14 hour trip), there was lots of time to complain. (Remind me never to get old and grumpy.)

Here’s a list of things that were complained about (and this was all within the first few hours):

1.      Immigration. “Can you believe it took so long?” When the ship was in Casablanca two weeks ago, it took over four hours. This time, it took about two. I count that as a win. Besides, it’s their country. They can do whatever they want. Suck it up.

2.      Length of the bus ride. While it wasn’t fun to sit on a bus 8 hours of a 13 hour trip, do your research. You don’t want to sit on a bus that long, don’t sign up for the trip.

3.      Lack of toilet paper in the restroom. I’m pretty sure they told us in the pre-port to carry your own TP. By the time the college students arrived in Morocco, they were prepared with TP and hand sanitizer in hand, ready to face any bathroom challenges that may arise. The old people, not so much. (“You want me to go in a hole in the ground?!”)

4.      Tipping the restroom attendant. “There’s no toilet paper and she expects a tip?” This lady makes as much in a week as you make in an hour at home and that’s if she’s lucky.

5.      The convenience store not taking dollars: Newsflash, this isn’t America and they don’t have to take dollars if they don’t want to.

6.      The two-time divorcee you got stuck sitting next to on the bus: I was sitting in front of this lady and her unfortunate choice for a seat mate. Trust me, she had every right to complain. Sir if you ever want to be on your way to marriage (and probably divorce) number three, stop talking about how much you hate your ex-wife.

7.      Lunch time: Due to the length of the bus ride, we didn’t get to eat lunch until around 3pm. Our lunch destination was in the medina, so we did a bit of a tour along the way. Our tour guide was mid-sentence, telling us some super interesting fact about the ancient city of Fes, when one of the ladies on the trip interrupted him with a rather rude, “When’s lunch?” He politely answered her and went back to talking when she interrupted him again and said, “Yeah, but when’s lunch?” Geez, lady, pack a snack next time.

On a less grumpy note…When we were walking through the medina, one of the rather charming shopkeepers, asked me, “Are you married?” When I said no, he said, “I would give you 20,000 camels for your hand.” I have no idea if that’s a lot, but I’ll take what I can get. 

It's pronounced CadITH

Cadiz, Spain

To be perfectly honest, I didn’t see much of Cadiz. I was in prepping for a job interview for much of the first day and only ventured out for a couple of hours later that afternoon. As it turns out, a couple of hours is just enough time to explore this charming coastal town.

I was out and about during siesta. I walked by a pub and there were grown men inside, drinking and singing, quite loudly might I add. I stood there and listened to them for a few minutes, jealous that I didn’t live in a place that valued afternoon naps, tapas, and boisterous singing as much as the Spanish.

The Five Towns

Livorno, Italy

Last time I was here, I was a trip leader for a tour-de-Italy, visiting almost every possible tourist destination in Italy over the course of six days. Meanwhile, the rest of the RDs were off exploring Cinque Terre, 5 tiny villages on the northwest coast of Italy. Cinque Terre literally translates to the five towns. You can hike in between the villages and it makes for a lovely adventure.

As soon as we arrived, I headed for the train station. I had to change trains in Pisa, so I thought I might as well stop and get a look at the leaning tower. When I turned the corner and the tower came into view, my first thought was, “Yep, it’s leaning.” It almost looks fake, cartoon-like, like someone drew it into the skyline as a joke. Apparently, you can pay to go to the top, but not wanting to contribute to the further lean of an Italian national monument, I declined. Also, I would rather spend my Euros on pizza and gelato.

Upon arrival in Le Spezia, the step off point to get to Cinque Terre, I checked in at the visitor’s center to plan my route for the next day. The only thing was, I neglected to check if the hiking trails between the towns were actually open. Apparently they had been closed since October due to landslides. A cab driver also informed me that it was going to cost half my budget to get to my hotel, which was a ways outside the city. I had a Skype interview that evening and had chosen this hotel based on the reviews that it had good wifi and that I could get a private room. After finding some clarity over a hot fudge sundae, I finally figured out how to get to my hotel, only to find that my computer didn’t start and that I had no other way to get back into town as the last bus left into La Spezia left an hour before. I managed to email them from my iPod and hope to goodness that they let me reschedule.

The next day, when I arrived in the first town, accepting my fate that I would have to take the train in between instead of hiking like I’d planned, I ran into one of my students who had stayed on for the Enrichment Voyage. She was travelling with her best friend and grandpa in tow. They had checked in at a different visitor’s center and had gotten insider information that one of the trails, while technically closed, was actually hikeable so off we went. We hiked in between Corniglia and Vernazza. While there were a lot of literal ups and downs, the ocean views and view of the other towns in the distance made it all worth it. 

A few notes...

Monte Carlo, Monaco

A few notes about Monaco…

1.      People here have more money than they know what to do with, well, at least more money than I know what to do with.

2.      You can buy stamps without also buying postcards which does you absolutely no good if you’ve already overpaid for postcards at a place that didn’t sell stamps.

3.      4.50 Euros is not enough money to buy you a seat in a street side creperie when it’s raining. Those four tables are reserved for people who are ordering more than just crepes and coffee. I could even wait for my order under the canopy. The waitress had me go stand across the street and wait until my order was ready. So I proceeded to enjoy my crepe and coffee in a covered alleyway with 19 other people who I presume had also been shunned in a similar fashion.

4.      I almost took a bus to France just because I could. I didn’t, but I could have. 

Is this real life?

Barcelona, Spain

I've heard Enrichment Voyages are a different animal. Enrichment Voyages are Semester at Sea’s version of a cruise, a combination of entertainment and education. I’d been asking around to folks who had done them, but I wasn't quite sure what to expect. From the moment we checked back in to the ship, I knew things were going to be different. The boys, their mom, and I decided to create a list of all of the things that were different between academic semesters and Enrichment Voyages. I've also added in a few of my own. Since I won’t have internet for a few weeks (see number 3), please consider this a (relatively) comprehensive list.

1.      The Age Old Question: Sailing as a Resident Director with a ship full of 20 somethings (or 18, 19, and even 17 year old somethings) has a tendency to make you feel old. Really, really old. Every time we play that game, “I was in ­­____ grade when this song came out,” I lose. But walking into the welcome session tonight for the Enrichment Voyage, I felt that I definitely would have won that game. In the past 24 hours, the average age of passengers on the ship increased by at least 40 years. They had an event for single travelers to meet and mingle in Glazer Lounge. I was slightly curious, so I poked my head in the door. Once I saw that everyone in there were old enough to be my parents, I took a sharp left and pretended like I was really headed for the bathroom the whole time. Talk about embarrassing.

2.      Food, glorious food! The first change I noticed was the quality of the food. I’d heard that the food budget was 30% bigger for Enrichment Voyages. Ergo, the food should be 30% better. When you've been eating pasta, pork, and potatoes for the past 106 days, anything is an improvement. I walked into the Garden Lounge and the first thing I noticed was the fruit! Fruit! On the ship! It does exist! Piles of apples, oranges, and bananas as far as the eye could see. It was wonderful. Downstairs in the Deck 5 Dining Hall, which is usually a buffet line, is set up like a fancy dinner, complete with 10 utensils per place setting (we counted) and a menu where you can select your own five course meal. I feel under dressed just being there.

3.      Communication Challenges: As a Resident Director, we got a limited amount of internet. It was 15 times the amount that the students got, but limited none the less. On the Enrichment Voyage, you have to pay for internet. Which I pretty much refuse to do. In order to keep up with job things, I had my personal gmail synced to Microsoft Outlook on my laptop. Instead of just downloading the emails that are currently in my inbox, it proceeded to download every email that I’ve ever sent or received. Since 2005. When I opened my email account. Email number 2548 currently downloading…

4.      Cheers: There are a couple of different options if you’re looking to buy snacks on the ship. There is a Piano Bar that sells coffee and junk food and also a Pool Bar that sells burgers, fries, pizza, and ice cream. The snack food and French fries have all but disappeared. In their place? Booze. And lots of it. There seems to be quite a focus on alcohol this voyage. I felt that about my last voyage, but it’s usually because Resident Directors are on the receiving end of the after effects of college students drinking too much alcohol. At the welcome session, they made a point to inform everyone that just by paying to sail on an Enrichment Voyage, you, in turn, were helping to fund Semester at Sea for students during the academic semester. He said, “With every beer you drink, you’re helping support a college student.” I spent a good percentage of the last voyage watching other people drink at pub nights, talking about alcohol policy, trying to avoid hearing horror stories about drunken shenanigans in port, or living in fear that I was going to be sentenced to babysit in the drunk tank at 2am. I am getting mixed signals…

It Was Only Just a Dream

Barcelona, Spain

Today, after parting ways with the K family after Casa Mia, I headed off to La Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s famous basilica. I missed it last time I was in Barcelona, so I was happy that I was able to fit it in this time around. Being the tourist destination that it is, I ran into several Semester at Sea students. Three of them I ran into were traveling with their parents. Two out of those three I didn't even know that well, but they came up and hugged me, grateful to see a familiar face from the ship. Seeing a familiar face reminded them that the past 106 days weren't a dream, that this incredible experience did actually happen. And that it did change their life in ways their families can’t even begin to comprehend. Unlike the family members that they were traveling with, I understood the complexity and cavalcade of emotions they were experiencing. And acknowledged their importance.

This was a stark contrast from yesterday where almost immediately after getting off the ship yesterday, I had a student ask me for packing tape and another ask me where he could find internet. Once an RD, always an RD. 

You forget how hard it is...

Barcelona, Spain 

Today, I put everyone in a cab (more like 11 cabs for 12 people) along with their 87 pieces of luggage and said my final goodbyes. Everyone else was off for a few fun filled days in Spain before heading off to another exotic locale in Europe or back to the States to continue their real lives or to start a new one with a new job in a new city. The final day on Semester at Sea is always weird. One of the Lifelong Learners who also sailed as a student compared it to the day a woman gives birth-you forget how hard it is. And she’s right. The prolonged cry fest as you stand at the gangway saying your goodbyes is one of the hardest, most awkward thing I’ve ever experienced. And I’ve done it twice. I was doing pretty well as far as keeping my emotions in check until one of my favorite four year olds comes up the stairs, runs across the room, and jumps up into my arms. She asked me to sign her journal (many college students were doing this as well) and after I asked her how we were going to keep in touch, she whispered in my ear, “We can write letters!” It was about the sweetest thing ever.

Now new Semester at Sea chapter begins. Today also starts my grand adventure as a nanny for yet another wonderful family from the Bay Area. Let’s call them the K family. I will be nannying for three boys: ages 4, 6, and 8 during the first half of Semester at Sea’s Enrichment Voyage. They have more energy than I quite know what to do with, but they are an amazing family and I am super excited to share this adventure with them. 

And in the end...

Casblanca, Morocco

I spent the last four days hiking through the Moroccan wilderness, sleeping on rooftops, and eating more couscous than I care to admit. Let me explain…

On my last voyage, Morocco was the last port. Kevin and I did a cool overnight trip where we got to spend the night in a Bedouin tent out in the Sahara and take a camel trek through some local villages the next day. (Riding a camel for that long sounds a lot more exciting than it actually is. The camel rash is a real thing. Trust me.) But we also spent about 20 hours on a bus over the course of 4 days so while I arrived home a bit car sick from all of the bus rides, the group who had done the Berber Villages of the High Atlas Mountains trip came back dirty, smelly, and satisfied. I heard nothing but great things about the trip from those on my last voyage and from a good friend who sailed the following semester, so when the opportunity to return to Morocco presented itself, I jumped at the chance. After a brief stop in Marrakech, we spent two days hiking through the High Atlas Mountains through some of the most beautiful country side I had ever seen. (Morocco, who knew?) Each day for lunch, we would arrive to this perfectly forested area, where our fabulous porters had set up a picnic spot and prepared some delicious food for us to enjoy. It was, by far, some of the best food of the entire semester. At night, we set up camp in a Bedouin Village, ate yet another wonderful meal, enjoyed each other’s company, and slept out on the rooftop underneath the stars. Four days after we started, we arrived back to the ship dirty, smelly, and satisfied, as promised. It was one of my favorite Semester at Sea experiences and an all-around great way to end the voyage. 

City of Refuge

Accra, Ghana

Today I participated in a service visit at the City of Refuge Children’s Village outside of Accra. Now, I know I’ve talked to you about these so-called service visits before, but this one actually had a service component. Shocking, I know.

The City of Refuge is an organization who seeks to rescue children who have been trafficked into the fishing industry. It also serves children who have been orphaned or abandoned. They have rescued about 80 kids since their founding in 2007. 35 kids currently live on site. They are really quite an amazing organization and in relation to the work that they do, there is nothing they haven’t thought of. They originally founded a school to serve the children who lived there, but saw a need in the community for all local children to have access to schooling. So they also run a school that currently serves 120 children from around the community. They are also in the process of building a high school for when the children age out of the current school. They also do outreach in the villages, employ single mothers who are most at risk for selling their children into trafficking, have installed a water purification system where they bag water for local people to sell, provide immunizations to community members, and the list goes on. While some people were off put by the religious nature of this organization, I was incredibly impressed at the attention to detail that was given to every aspect of these children’s lives. The founders, Stacy and her husband Johnbull, are incredibly inspirational people who make you realize that with a dream and some hard work, indeed anything is possible. To learn more about the City of Refuge Children’s Village, the amazing work they’re doing, and how you can help, please visit their website. 

A machine gun?

Torgome, Ghana

Today, I had the opportunity to do a homestay in a traditional Ghanaian village. I was really excited to learn more about the local life of people here in Ghana and while that did occur, much of the experience turned into something else entirely.

It’s been a constant conversation on the ship about giving gifts to local children, be it money, candy, or otherwise. Yes, it makes us feel good for a few seconds when the kids are happy to see us, happy to pose for pictures, and happy to take what we have. But what are the long term effects of American tourists coming in, showering these children with candy and trinkets then leaving just as quickly as we came? What does this say about Americans and what local kids should expect when they meet them? I was told that the children in this village were explicitly told not to beg and if caught doing so, they got in big trouble with their parents. Children would come up to us when no one was looking and whisper, “Give me a pencil.” Each time it happened, it cheapened my experience that much more. While there weren’t any kids in the household I was staying in, I felt that these children weren’t interested in interacting with us, they were looking to get something out of the deal by us being here.  A pencil, a sticker, something they can call their own or barter with if the need arises. This interaction in particular, was especially disturbing.

Kid: Give me a pencil.

Me: No

Kid: Give me money.

Me: No

Kid: Give me a machine gun.

Me: A machine gun?

Kid: Yes

Me: No

Now if constantly asking for pencils and candy says something about what we’re putting out there as Americans, what on Earth does asking for a machine gun say about us? I haven’t the foggiest.

Go for the Beads

Takoradi, Ghana

Today, we did a tour of the highlights of the Takoradi area in Ghana. This included a wide variety of experiences-everything from a national park known for its series of suspension bridges over a rainforest to touring two slave castles. You read that right. Slave castles.

Let’s start with the good news first, shall we? We drove about two hours to Kakum National Park. It is a National Park chock full of rainforest and suspension bridges. My friend Willard ended up behind a young girl, who as it turns out, is deathly terrified of heights. There was a series of 7 suspension bridges, each one slightly more terrifying than the next for someone who is afraid of heights. At first, Willard was just offering words of encouragement to help her across. Then she asked me to walk in front of her, still keeping him behind her. We did our best to talk to her, in order to keep her mind off of things. She was dressed in her Sunday best, complete with fancy patent leather shoes, perfect for church or, you know, traversing rope bridges over top of a rainforest. We learned her name was Benedict and it was her 12^th birthday.  Some birthday gift for someone who is afraid of heights, if you ask me. It went from, “Hey, let’s walk across some rope bridges!” to a really sweet memory that I won’t soon forget.

Now for the not so fun, albeit important, part. We also visited two slave castles, the Cape Coast Castle and the Elmina Castle. Both of these were where poor, unsuspecting Africans await their fate as slaves to be taken to Europe and America. Sure, you learn about slavery in school, but it seems so far removed from life as we know it. To see where people, actual human beings, were kept as slaves and sent off to an unknown fate in a faraway place was sobering to say the least. Some of these people were captured by the Europeans and some were even sold to the Europeans by their own people, tribes who had lost in civil war to an opposing tribe or debtors who were paying off their debts via indentured servitude. Sometimes the most impactful and important parts of our history are hardest to comprehend.

On a less depressing note, we learned a fun fact about the laws of attraction in Ghana. Our tour guide told us that the sound of kissing is not a turn on in Ghana, but rather it’s the sound of women’s beads clanking together that is a real turn on for men. So if you’re looking to hook a hottie in Ghana, go for the beads. 

It's just like riding a bike...

Cape Town, South Africa

I was asked to be the trip leader for an orphanage visit/township bicycle tour on our first day in South Africa. Two things about this itinerary: One, I am tired of getting the feedback that these orphanage visits are basically an opportunity take pictures of poor children with their being absolutely nothing I can do about it. Two, I haven’t been on a bicycle in the better part of two decades and really wasn’t looking forward to it. This particular trip turned out to be a pleasant surprise. First off, we visited Baphumelele Orphanage in Khayelistsha Township, the largest township in Cape Town, the second largest in South Africa only behind Soweto outside of Johannesburg. This particular orphanage caters to 106 children, many of whom are orphans due to HIV/AIDS. I’ve heard various statistics on how many people in South Africa suffer from HIV/AIDS, anywhere between 1 in 4 to 1 in 5. Either way, the numbers are staggering. While HIV/AIDS is on the decline in most of the rest of the world, it is actually on the rise in South Africa. The organization also hosts a school in addition to a bakery and a soup kitchen in order to help fund their efforts.

With these “service trips,” there tends to be this sort of cognitive dissonance between wanting to learn more about the social justice issues at hand and feeling like intruders in the way that we are able to do so. On the way to the orphanage, I even challenged the students on the bus to take 10 minutes, put away their cameras, and really focus on interacting with the children. Everyone nodded along in agreement, but still some still proceeded to treat the children and staff like they were animals in a zoo. One of the toddlers was crying, so the staff member on site picked her up to console her. Folks stood less than three feet from the staff member who was holding her, zoomed in, and took their picture. I, along with the staff member (who spoke perfect English by the way) was stunned. She asked, “Why did they take my picture without asking? They should have asked me.” I wanted to ask her if she could come say that to our entire shipboard community. I just can’t wrap my idea around the idea of taking pictures of people like they’re zoo animals. Yes, they look different than you, but they’re still people. Take out your camera, point to it, point to them, and if they give you the thumbs up, you’re good to go.  Simple as that.

After the orphanage visit, we headed to Langa township to do a bicycle tour. First of all, I hate when people say, it’s just like riding a bike. Because it’s not true. Not even a little bit. I didn’t learn how to ride a bike until 6^th grade, about 5 years behind everyone else I knew. In middle school, my dad bought me a 10 speed bike for my birthday. It was hot pink and purple and quite a big deal for someone who had only been riding a bike for less than a year. Now let’s talk about the last time I distinctly remember riding a bike. Around that time, they had just put in a new bike path in Omaha. We were out on the new path and the novice cyclist that I was, was a little unsteady. A rollerblader coming up behind me said, “Passing on your right.” Instead of moving to the left like I should have done, I veered right thus proceeding to run her over. Mortified at the tire marks I’d left on her leg, I put the bike in the garage, vowing to never ride again. A short time later, my dad was at home with my baby brother who was taking a nap. The garage was open and my dad saw some punk kid go into our garage and come out riding my bike. He couldn’t chase him too far because baby brother was sleeping and he couldn’t leave him alone. When I arrived home from school, my dad told me what happened. We drove around the neighborhood, looking behind bushes and in dumpsters, trying to find my not so beloved bike, but to no avail. The bike was nowhere to be found. After my recent trauma on the bike path, I opted not to get another bike thus ending my hopes of every being an Olympic triathlete. So that’s the last time I was on a bike. Needless to say I wasn’t too keen on riding a bike in a foreign country.

The bike tour actually wasn’t too bad. I didn’t hit anyone, get hit by anyone, or fall off. And I learned a few things in the process. Our guide was actually from the township we visited so he was able to give us a firsthand account of what it was like to grow up there. We saw ladies cooking and selling sheep’s heads, the upper middle and lower class homes in the township, and ended our tour with a performance by the students at Happy Feet, an after school organization that teaches kids in the township dance. Happy Feet gives the kids an incentive to attend school, study hard, and be on their best behavior, all requirements for being Happy Feet participants. The kids showed us some dances and even taught us a few moves. All in all I consider it a win.

When I got back from the trip, I headed across the street to the waterfront, an area with fancy shopping and fine dining. There was also a huge shopping mall, the South Africa Mall of America. Anything you could possibly want could be found inside that mall and for probably more than you wanted to pay. Between the township and the waterfront, it was a day of contrasts. Dichotomy day, if you will. I heard several students talk about how they were just going to hang around the waterfront or on Long Street, another shopping area peppered with bars and restaurants, during our time in Cape Town, missing out completely on the very recent history that makes South Africa the nation it is today. We’re not talking ancient history, folks. Apartheid officially ended in 1994, within our students’ lifetime. Staying at the waterfront and in fancy safari lodges, ignoring the very large elephant that, almost 20 years later, is still in the room, isn’t giving South Africa its due. The very that least we, as visitors, can do is learn about and recognize the resolve of this great nation and learn from them. 

Shop 'Til You Drop

Port Louis, Mauritius

I’m sure the question you’re asking yourself is, “Where the heck is Mauritius?” It’s a question I asked myself not too long ago. It’s a small island about half way between India and Africa. (I challenge you to find it on a map.) We were only there for about 8 hours, so there isn’t much to report. My friend Christine and I treated it as more of a shopping stop: stocking up on supplies for the upcoming Sea Olympics, buying snacks for our long haul to South Africa, and hitting up the post office. We stopped by the local market and decided to inquire about the price of some of these really cool pants that we’d seen. The two guys running the shop insisted on taking us to another stall down the way. They attempted to take each of us into separate stalls in order to bargain and see how much money they could get out of each of us. We were pretty insistent on making a package deal because buying in bulk usually bodes well in environments like this. They originally quoted us a price of $60 and all we could do was laugh. I got him down to $20 and Christine managed to get her guy down to $15. I then proceeded to pay my shopkeeper $15, insisting that we get the same price. They kept insisting that they were conducting two separate transactions and that we should each honor the individual price. They were quite upset that we both insisted on paying the same price for the exact same thing. Silly us. One of the shopkeepers then proceeded to insult us, telling Christine that it was a shame for such a nice girl to argue over a couple of dollars. We then proceeded to tell him that it was shame he would try and hustle two nice girls out of a couple of dollars. At this point, money had already changed hands so I’m not even sure why we were still having this conversation. We told him we were sticking together and that we were going to pay the same price. The shopkeeper then asked us if we were lesbians as if that had something to do with it. If standing up for ourselves in order to not get hustled by a sketchy guy at the overpriced market makes us lesbians, then sign me up. Long story short, it was not a shopping experience that I appreciated. Makes me really miss the Gap. 

An Indian Adventure

Agra, India

This morning, my alarm went off well before the sunrise, but it was totally worth it. Today was the day that our Amazing Race to the Taj Mahal was set to begin. Due to our duty schedule, my friend Christine and I had only 2 days to drive an hour to the airport, hop on a four hour flight from Kochi to Delhi, drive from four hours from Delhi to Agra, see the Taj Mahal, then repeat the whole process again in reverse the following day. All within 48 hours. In a country whose public transportation reputation precedes itself, we somehow managed to pull all of this off without a hitch.

The Taj Mahal itself was every bit as beautiful as I thought it would be. It was built by Shah Jahan in the 17^th century to honor his favorite wife Mumtaz. Mumtaz was the Shah’s third wife and died during the birth of their 14^th child and after bearing 14 children, it sounds to me like she earned every bit of it. Pictures don’t do it justice. It’s no wonder it is one of the Seven Wonders of the World.  Although it was a quick turnaround, it was totally worth the 18 hours of travel over the course of 28 hours. Amazing Race, here I come. 

A Culinary Conundrum

Kochi, India

I feel that much of my time in India revolved around food…or the lack there of. My hate-hate relationship with Indian food dates back to one of my first nights in New York. All of the residence life graduate assistants were going out to dinner after a long day of training. One of the grads who had lived in the city for a couple of years suggested an Indian restaurant. Being from the relatively bland cultural landscape of the Midwestern United States, I hadn’t yet tried Indian food. I don’t remember much about the meal itself, but the I remember the aftermath like it was yesterday. I spent the second night in my new apartment pooping my brains out and sleeping on the cold, hard tile floor in the bathroom. Not wanting to recreate my first experience with Indian food, I opted to be super careful with my cuisine choices during my time in India. My rule of thumb was to not eat things that looked like they’d already been digested. I acknowledge that this is an incredibly insensitive way to view another cultures cuisine, but my digestive system escaped unscathed so I’m sort of okay with it.

They Call it Myanmar

Yangon, Burma

I have found myself relatively uninspired to write about places where I spent a significant amount of time on duty which, unfortunately, includes Burma. I spent the first 48 hours during our time there staring out at the port from the comfort of the ship. This is unfortunate because Burma is a pretty wonderful place. It is also relatively large and difficult to travel around in the three days that I had available. Semester at Sea hasn’t been there since 2006 so we were the first voyage to return in seven years which was a big deal for all parties involved. The equivalent of a Burmese governor even came and toured the ship. It was all very exciting.

Burma itself is shrouded in mystery. We watched a documentary on the ship called They Call it Myanmar: Lifting the Curtain. While “lifting the curtain” sounds a bit dramatic, it’s actually pretty accurate. It is only recently that Burma “opened” to the outside world. According to that documentary, it is the second most isolated country in the world, behind North Korea I’m sure. And what’s with the two names? According the film, Burma was the name given to the country by the military regime, but Myanmar is more inclusive of the other cultural groups that also live in the country so either name can be considered correct. During a pre-port seminar, we even saw a Coca-Cola statement about how proud they were to come to Myanmar and be there for its people, just like they were after World War II in the US and the fall of the Berlin Wall in Germany. We also saw the Burmese version of a Kentucky Fried Chicken, which by the way we have seen in every country we’ve been to. Capitalism at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.

I tried to spend my three days in Burma wisely. The first day, I went to the village of Thanlyn with a couple of other staff members from the ship. We hired a cab driver to take us there and somewhere along the line, he turned into our tour guide and eventually our friend. He took us to the local temple, the street market, and the pagoda in the river, which in and of itself was really cool. By the end of our time together, he was telling us about his children and teaching us words in Burmese. My favorite was when he pointed to my friend Kevin who was sitting beside him in the front seat and said “friend.” This cab driver even helped me wipe pigeon poop off myself after we startled a flock of the mangy birds.  These are just a couple of examples of how incredibly kind and wonderful the Burmese people are.

In addition to visiting the local market and the infamous golden Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon, I also had the opportunity to serve as a trip leader for an orphanage visit in the town of Thanlyn. It was a monastic school/orphanage run by local monks. According to the documentary I saw, these monastic schools aren’t quite up to snuff with the traditional public schools, but the well-intentioned priests do the best they can to educate these children. Even though the public schools are supposed to be free, there are all types of fees that prohibit poor families from sending their children to school. Many children do not even complete primary school. Many children drop out and work in order to help support their families. It was interesting to see how school works for children in other countries, though. I look forward to sharing this with my future students somewhere down the line.

There have been a lot of complaints about these so-called service visits and about this idea of poverty tourism. It all started after Vietnam when students could no longer ignore the staggering poverty that exists in the ports we were visiting. In Japan and China, it was easy to avoid. Stick to the big cities and you’ll be fine. In Vietnam, even if you just stayed in Ho Chi Minh City, it was impossible to avoid. People were shocked at the living and working conditions that existed there. I think that some of them were even more shocked to realize that this level of poverty may also exist within 20 miles of their home in the United States, but that they’ve just never interacted with it before. The service visits to orphanages and schools in the poorer areas of these countries were just as surprising for many of our students. Students sign up thinking they’re actually going to perform some type of volunteer work, leave somewhat of a lasting contribution at these schools and orphanages, but thus far the formula for these service visits has remained the same: drive into an impoverished area, interact with the poor children for a couple of hours, return to the comfort of the ship, eat a nutritious meal, take a hot shower, and sleep in a warm bed. I have a thousand ideas on how to make this process better. Actually, my Semester at Sea dream is to create a venue in which students can actually perform some service in these areas while learning a little something in the process. Engaging with people… letting a community defining its own needs… … learning about the larger issues and why they’re important…  I blame NCCC for all these crazy ideas. And for that I thank them. 

The (Mer)Lion Sleeps Tonight

Singapore

I debated long and hard whether to blog about Singapore. I was only there for a day and I spent that day at Universal Studios so I very well could have been in Florida instead of Asia. So even there I was only there for 10 hours, I figure it was worth giving Singapore its due. It is, after all, a very unique place. There are three major ethnic groups there: Chinese, Indian, and Malaysia and four official languages: Chinese, Tamil (an Indian language), Malay, and English. I found out that when determining the borders for Singapore and Malaysia, they divided things the way they did so that they would not have more Chinese people in Malaysia than Malay people.  Singapore itself is less than 50 years old and fought tooth and nail to rise from a third world country to a first world country in record time. So say what you will about this city state, but it really is something special.

The coolest thing about Singapore? The city’s mascot is a merlion. Yes, a mermaid lion. Its roots can be traced back to the city’s history as a fishing village. Hence the mermaid. The city’s most recent name, Singapura, means “the lion city.” Hence the lion. So there are giant merlions all over the city. And they’re awesome.

Universal was pretty great too. Just like Orlando except more diversity and worse food. (Turns out Chinese and Malay food is hard to translate into theme park food. Had we gone to a real restaurant outside the park, the food would have been fantastic. Go figure.)

At our post-port reflection, a time where folks on the ship gather to share about their experiences in each country, there was this sentiment that Singapore lacked culture. Yes it was modern, clean, more Western than we’d seen in awhile, and everyone spoke English, but does that mean they don’t have a culture? One student argued that all of these cultures melding together is, in and of itself, a culture. And I tend to agree. No place else that we’ve been has there been three distinct cultures that blend together to form one unique culture. This got me to thinking about the culture, or the lack there of, in the United States. I think there is this idea that we, as white middle class Americans, don’t have a defined culture. I think there are definitely arguments for and against that idea, but it is something interesting to think about.

What the hell are we fighting for?

Ho Chi Minh City, Viet Nam

Today I visited the War Remnants Museum, the final stop on my list of places to visit in Viet Nam in order to learn more about the war from the other side. I didn’t imagine it to be much more difficult to see than Hiroshima, but I was wrong. There was an entire room dedicated to victims of Agent Orange including Vietnamese soldiers, American GIs, and their subsequent offspring. It was found that once the chemical is in your system, it can affect also affect your unborn children so generations later, families are still feelings the effects of the war.  There were also pictures of victims of the bombings and of the massacres that occurred throughout the country. There was also a collection of before and after pictures of cities that were destroyed during the war and photos of how they look now. This display was a beacon of light in an otherwise dark and dismal place. I found myself returning to this display for a second time at the end of my visit in order to end on some semblance of a happy note, if you can call it that.

My initial thought was after seeing these pictures was, “How could we ask these kids to do these awful things?” Or rather, “How could we draft these kids and tell them that this is what they HAVE to do?” Seeing pictures of the death and destruction in what was ultimately a lose-lose situation was, as an American, incredibly challenging. It was awful and appalling, shocking and sickening all at the same time. While this was an intentionally one sided story, I have now seen both sides and the story didn’t end well for anyone. It was arguably one of the hardest things I’ve ever seen.

One of my goals while in Viet Nam was to learn about the war from the other side and I feel like I’ve done that during my time here. The Vietnamese people are very open and honest about their experiences and, surprisingly, no one I met seems to hold a grudge against Americans. So I suppose the best I can do is to take this experience, learn as much as I can, and move on in a positive direction, much like the people I met during my time in Viet Nam. While it is certainly not a part of our history that we’re proud of, this is as much a part of my history as an American as it is of theirs and it doesn’t have to define us as a nation.