Katherine Kohls' Adventures At Sea

Japan! Kyoto: Getting Lost and Ginkgo Trees

2009-12-03T15:25:00.003-06:00

The next morning Meena and I headed to Kyoto. We spent the entire day wandering the city. We wandered into temples, removed our shoes, and meditated alongside the locals. We wandered into an art museum and down narrow alleys. We saw hundreds of vending machines that dispensed everything from coffee to sake. We even saw a sort of vending machine for cars, a space efficient parking garage.

We got lost on our way back to the train station. But, getting lost always unveils new and unexpected things to see and do. We went to Pachinko’s (no, not like the Miami bar). Pachinko’s is a small gambling venue. They are tucked in every nook and cranny of Kyoto. There are large two story Pachinko’s and small ones in the stairwells of subway stations.

My favorite was the Imperial Palace gardens. Although we could not go inside the palace itself, the grounds were breathtaking. The trees were changing colors, all different colors. The air was so fresh and exhilarating- with every breath came a clear mind and soul. An elderly couple strolled past us holding hands. A young father smiled and watched over his bouncy toddler daughter.
The ginkgo trees were the most impressive. Every first day of school at the old house, we would take photos in front of our tiny ginkgo tree. Dad would always say that it was the slowest growing tree. It would take hundreds of years to grow tall. Dad said that when I went to Japan (because he’s dad, he just knew) I would see the biggest ginkgo trees ever. It is such an old country and rulers from ancient times planted the trees and watched them grow strong just like their country.

Japan! Hot Springs, Bullet Train, Kobe

2009-12-03T15:24:00.003-06:00

Six am comes quickly. Molly steals away down the stairs and comes back with a horrified look on her face, “she’s locked us in!’ Who is this lady?

I sigh and we line up by the window. It is scarier going the other way. But we all make it across to the ledge and to the road. We walk towards town. As we cross a hanging bridge I breathe the air in, it is so fresh and crisp- it makes me smile. We eat our 7/11 Japanese traditional breakfast near Lake Akashi, one of Mt. Fuji's Five Lakes. We take a small bus up to the Yessuen Hot Springs. We look like bums sleeping in the lobby as we wait for the other half of our group. There are complaints that we are loitering. Our group shows and we spend the morning bathing in baths of red wine, sake, coffee, and green tea. Outside, Barry and I are reminded of Wisconsin Dells- in the cold mountain air we race down water slides. We try to get the Japanese kids to play with us, but they are frightened. My favorite bath was the Dead Sea bath, there was so much salt in it that you floated just by sitting in it.

We took the Shinkansen (The Bullet Train!) to Kobe. Taking a bus would be a journey of 16 hours, and it took us only 3 hours!

In Kobe, we went out for sushi to celebrate Megan’s birthday. We found this very small sushi bar. I ordered every type of eel that was on the menu and then sea urchin just to be adventurous. The eel (unagi) was delicious! The sea urchin (uni sushi) tasted like poison. I tried to wash it down with sake and almost died. Sake is officially my least favorite drink and sea urchin shouldn’t even be considered a food.

Japan! The things we do for a place to sleep

2009-12-03T15:23:00.002-06:00

We arrived in misty Hakone with nothing but the name of the place we were meeting Molly and the gang. We took a taxi up the mountainside, our ears popped on the way up. Nearly thirty minutes into the ride, I looked out the window and caught the familiar and SAS popular panda hat. Barry! I pressed my face against the window and he motioned for us to stop.

In a whisper, “uh hey! You guys made it! Follow me.”

We followed. We followed him into the woods. Jonny and Austin were ahead of him.

Jonny turned around, “whoa! Who is that? Who’s here?’

Austin nudged him, ‘hey let’s just keep going’

Meena and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders: c’est la vie.

We were now creeping, still on a steep incline, past windows and through the yards of small homes. We stopped. We were looking at a window. Molly came to the window!

Barry turned to me. He quickly and quietly explained, “Listen, so the lady that runs this place is a Nazi. She won’t allow more than four people to stay here.”

I stared at him blankly. Then looked at Molly and her worried expression. The boys were talking frantically, pointing to different things and moving their bodies to make their separate points.

Jonny came to my side, “Kate. Okay. We are going to jump through that window.”

“But, Jonny that’s a second story window.”

Meena laughs. Austin is standing on the edge of the ledge that drops the two stories down to a night-black bottom.

“I have a big bag though!”

Jonny takes it off my back, hands it to Barry. Barry throws it towards the building. Austin has somehow already made it inside and has caught our bags. Barry goes next; he jumps from the ledge and gracefully lands in the window frame like a cat ready to pounce.

“This is crazy, this is absolutely crazy.” Meena just laughs again.

My knees are weak as my toes try to grip the ledge. Jonny gives me a tap. I look over my shoulder; he grins wide and gives the thumbs up.

I jump. I am now clinging to the window frame. My exhausted body hanging down the side of this lovely bed and breakfast. I roll my eyes; this is such a stupid, stupid reason to go to jail. I try to pull myself up. I squeal, this is such a stupid, stupid way to die. Brian and Jonny pull me in. Meena makes it in much easier.
Now all nine of us are sitting in the room plotting the morning escape. I look around; the room reminds me of the bedrooms in the movie, My Neighbor Totoro. There is one long and wide mattress on the ground with several blankets. We agree that the five of us will try to sneak out at six am. Another early morning!

Japan: Harajuku & getting to Mt. Fuji

2009-12-03T15:19:00.003-06:00

Our plan was to leave early for the base of Mt. Fuji. But, we had not yet seen Harajuku- so in the afternoon the three of us ventured there. The street was teeming with women dressed just like Gwen Stefani’s famous ‘Harajuku Girls.’ Their costumes were decadent- a cross between a punk rock and Victorian tea party, skull & crossbones and lace & bows.

We left in the evening to try to make the seven o’clock train. We were told this was the last train so we sprinted through the long station- not bothering with the moving sidewalks. Hesitantly we boarded the train that left at half past; once again we were told that it would take us where we needed to go: Hakone. On the train we met an official from the Kuwait Embassy who was very interested in Semester at Sea and helpful in reassuring us we were heading in the right direction. Mr. Takao Mineoka and I exchanged email addresses and we have been in correspondence about our adventures in Japan. We also met a kind lady who was an English tutor in Tokyo a few days a week. She took the time to write down several points of interest for us to consider in Tokyo.

Japan! Tokyo: Ebisu Beer Museum

2009-12-03T15:18:00.001-06:00

Although we only had a total of 4 hours of sleep (give or take a few shut-eye train rides) for the 42 hours we had been in Japan- Meena and I wake at seven am and begin our day.

The street is like a graveyard- the liveliness that was here hours before had vanished leaving only traces. We silently drag ourselves to the metro station. By now we have mastered the Tokyo subway: we don’t even look to each other to be affirmed in our ticket purchases, we make the correct switches, we end up at our destination, and we know our way to the street. We are zombie-like as we ride the escalator up to ground-level. A man passing us the opposite way says something in Japanese, when he receives no response he asks ‘are you okay?’ It takes a moment to realize he is talking to us. We look at each other, we look at ourselves, we look back at him, and we start laughing! Uncontrollably. I am in a tissue-thin black dress with uggs. I have my arms wrapped around myself to keep warm on the brisk November morning. If Meena’s hair and makeup are any reflection of my own, I am a mess. We look ridiculous. The kind gentlemen smiles and says ‘ohhh you are drunk!’ We cannot even reply. Once again, Meena and I have come out of an unpredictable night alive and unscathed.

At the Westin Hotel in the Ebisu district, we meet Taylor and her parents for a delicious brunch. We all went as a family to the Beer Museum. The exuberant Mr. Taylor insisted we try the sampler platter of all five Sapporo brews. Mrs. Taylor looked after us with her mothering eyes. It felt so nice to be with family.

Japan! Tokyo: Roppongi District

2009-12-03T15:16:00.001-06:00

       Karaoke is like Sunday Night football to the Japanese- the best way to spend free time and let it all go. While American businessmen relieve stress by drinking brews and yelling at the television, the Japanese businessmen unwind by drinking sake and singing their hearts out. Thirty-five of us packed into a small room that reminded me of the back of a limo. Mirrors on every wall, sparkly vinyl booths, and an intercom used to request a new song. Someone would go to the front to sing, but their voice was drowned out by the booming chorus of the rest of us singing the best of the 90s.

      As the night progressed we became slightly worried about our situation. We polled the different locals we met. At the Tokyo Ice Bar (overrated) we met two couples that were stationed on the US Navy base. On the street we met four women who had moved to Japan just because, they approved of all options but told us to stay away from the Roppongi district because it was dangerous for travelers. Guess where we ended up? Roppongi.
       You know those movies where they speed up the film and show a bunch of people running back and forth, running into each other, going up an escalator then back down, then remembering someone they left behind, etc? That is what we looked like as our large party navigated the metro to get to Roppongi.
       A group of SAS students had rented apartments. The five of us were relieved to have found a place to stay. Stephen and I went out to explore the district life. It was explosive with the energy of people celebrating life in the crisp open air. My night ended on the apartment balcony, smoking a cigar with Nick looking at the city lights in the distance, the busy street below us, and the still metro bridge in front of us. I closed my eyes tight trying to save the image and memory.

Japan! Tokyo: Home vs. Homelessness

2009-12-03T15:14:00.002-06:00

      After making our way back to the hostel, I used one of the lobby computers to skype home. I could see and hear my family but could only interact through the keyboard. Molly walked by and squealed and pointed to the computer screen, she thought I was looking at a picture of myself- in fact, it was Madeline. Others that took turns looking at my real-live family in America compared my features and mannerisms to Mom and Dad.        I laughed; rather I typed ‘haha.’ It felt like I had been sprinting around the world and home life had been stretching, gearing up to join me when I returned home. I stunk of fish, had not slept, was typing on a Japanese keyboard, in an alley hostel in Tokyo. Back at the starting line, Mads, Hayl, Mom and Dad gathered in our familiar kitchen; sun streamed in from our patio door lighting up their bright faces. Watching them, I could feel the warmth of a meal at that kitchen table with that winter Wisconsin sun toasting the family with illuminating memories. The conversation ended as we rushed out the door to go begin another Tokyo adventure.
        I had begun our backpacking adventure with my backpack, the clothes I was wearing, a dress, a swimsuit, a toothbrush, and my trusty travel bag. On the second day in Tokyo, I was therefore on a quest for underwear. Cat, Meena, and I had checked out of the hostel with only a plan. We had been on the North East side the night before so we were heading to the South West side of Tokyo: Shibuya. On the way in Yoyogi, I spotted a GAP from the metro window. So we got off, I ran in, and began my search. All underwear was an XXS, XS, or S- I guess this is telling of the American physique. I picked up two pairs of underwear and two pairs of socks. I checked out for $66: My most expensive pair of underwear. Reality Check: we were no longer in one of the developing countries that I had been used to since September. This was even more expensive than the US, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
       While I scoured the store, pulling on my underwear, trying to ask where I could find it, Cat and Meena had run into a few SAS students. They were also looking for a place to stay. Word on the street was there wasn’t a single hostel, hotel, or motel with vacancy that night. Our night of homelessness began then: in between a four-story GAP store and a busy metro station in Yoyogi, Tokyo, Japan.
       We made our way to Akasaka, where Stephen, Casey, and Stephanie had a hotel. It was a pristine district. We were reprimanded for jay-walking a street that was no wider than a sidewalk. We peaked through some tall shrubs to see a bride descend a spiral staircase into a garden. When she reached her groom loud and festive music started playing. When we reached the hotel, white Christmas lights had been lit up and down the streets adding the elegance of the area.

They let us shower and keep our things in their hotel room. Missy and Andrew were also desperately looking for a place to stay. Options: 1) A love hotel that we could rent by the hour. We would only need a few hours if we stayed out late. We could even pick themed rooms. 2) Go to a business bar that has tubes to sleep in. These are popular in Japan because in order to be successful drinking after hours with clients is expected. The tubes provide a place to sleep after the subways close at midnight. 3) A karaoke bar. You can rent the boothed rooms by the hour. There is no law that you have to sing while you are in there. This is another popular alternative for travelers.

Japan! Tokyo: the city that never sleeps

2009-12-03T15:12:00.003-06:00

Ninja Tokyo Hostel? With a name like that, good times are guaranteed. As we walked the five flights up the steep stairwell, we were intrigued by the anime story that visually explained the perils of playing with samurai swords. The moral of the story: if you are a ninja octopus, you may cut off several of your tentacles.

Our hostel was very Japanese meaning very space efficient. I would like to compare our sleeping area to the back of a band’s tour bus: a narrow path between stacked, box-like, wooden, private sleeping cubby holes. We were each given a key. So we threw our backpacks onto our beds, slid the wood panel shut, and locked our things into our personal caves.

I actually never slept that night. After dinner we headed to Club Camelot in the Shibuya district. We made several friends in the metro station that used iPhone applications to direct us through the metro routes. We arrived back at the hostel after three in the morning and we all made use of the free internet: chatting with friends who were in class on mid-Thursday afternoon.
At four in the morning we woke the rest of the group up and we headed to the Tokyo fish market for a cultural experience. Before the sun could even provide a sliver of light, we dodged forklifts while hundreds maybe thousands of people scurried like ants around the covered market. I chatted with a local fisherman after he caught me poking one of the large translucent squids he had on display. He took a liking to me and my foreign curiosity so he offered me a fresh cut of tuna sashimi. I excitedly accepted it and ate it, only thinking about the possible repercussions of fresh raw fish while I gaped at a large tuna being publicly dissected a few stalls over. With the rising sun came more and more spectators, buyers, and fishermen. Buyers were bidding for the finest seafood for their five star restaurants. Local mothers, trailing their small children behind them, bargained for smaller morsels to provide for their family. Fisherman argued pointing fingers, brandishing fish, shouting Japanese. Other fisherman proudly arranged and rearranged their my-sized catches or passed their hand over tanks as if to frame their seafood in a braggadocios manner.

Japan! Yokohama

2009-12-03T15:11:00.001-06:00

The ship docked in Yokohama on November 20 and left from Kobe on November 24. Everything that happened in between was an adventure. This adventure was five days, four nights, thirteen hours of sleep, hundreds of miles, five major cities,

and the experience of a lifetime.

       We were only in Yokohama for the amount of time it took to walk from the ship’s terminal to the metro station. (Granted, the time inside of the terminal was extensive due to Japanese Immigration Standards that required face-to-face interview, fingerprints, infrared temperatures, and personal photo upon arrival.) But the short two block walk was enough to make a striking first impression of Japan. This was the first port that the streets were not comprised of a loud ensemble of (depending on the country) angry taxi drivers, squealing motobikes, deafening horns, rickshaws, ox, donkey, cow, intense pedestrian traffic or any other general chaos. Once we noticed the difference it was deafening, cutting off one sense to fully take in another. Japan looked and smelled much cleaner than any of the past several countries we had been to.
       Even inside of the metro stations I would feel safe to eat something that had failed the ten-second rule. Looking back on it, I must laugh when I describe the utter confusion of our group and discombobulating manner that we tried to decipher maps, signs, hand signals, and Japanese phrase books. After no less than forty five minutes, half of us boarded a train heading for central Tokyo. The other half set out to find their Japanese Rail Passes that they had pre-ordered. We wondered if they would make it to Tokyo. Brian, Meghan, Meena, Dave, and I watched Japan transform from countryside, to suburbs, to tight housing districts, then go underground. In only forty five minutes we arrived at the central Tokyo station. We stepped outside and I strained my neck to look up and all the way down the grid of tall buildings. Once again the buildings seemed to personify the typical Japanese businessman- standing in regiment single file in their finest, sleekest, black or blue suit awaiting an order to dutifully fulfill.
       We pulled out maps trying to find our way. A nice local man heard us speaking English, formally introduced himself with business card and all, explained he attended high school in San Francisco, and then asked if he could be of assistance. We showed him the address we were trying to get to and the options of circles that had been drawn on the map by conflicting local opinions. He shook his head and led us all the way to another metro station, walked us downstairs, showed us what buttons to push, which train to take, and where to get off. Well we got the right ticket. Got on the wrong train, skipped the right stop, and then backtracked to do it all over again.
       Finally we were in Nishi-Nippori, the district of our hostel. We began to walk in the general direction- I even got out a compass to make sure that if we were going to walk aimlessly, we were going to go the right way. Luckily, we ran into some other SAS students. They pointed us in a direction and we found it!

hey so i am in a hostel in tokyo... i cannot determine what picture is which so here are some pictures from my latest adventures, eh?

2009-11-20T07:01:00.000-06:00

playing chicken in the Saigon river.. i was afraid these guys were donezo.

Bert is watching intently as our guide is showing us graphic pictures of all of the victims of the Khmer Rouge.

Kelly and I excited in front of Angor Wat.

children at the killing fields that kept repeating please please i want to go to school, i want to go to school. they followed Anders and I from the far side all the way to the bus...

then the reflection of the Angor Wat temples at sunrise on the one of the four ponds a part of the front landscape.

climbing on the ancient temples

hanging out in elephant palace

getting suits made in Viet Nam

Le PUB!

HONG KONG! !

then Tienanmen square

getting ready for a cold night Great Wall Style

forbidden city and temple of Heaven

waking up the restless morning after camping on the Great Wall

where we slept

hiking&zipling down the great wall

on top of the Shanghai World Financial Center

Hong Kong

on top

shanghai

China: Shanghai

2009-11-19T07:00:00.002-06:00

Arriving back at the ship was one of those moments that you are so happy to see home. Espcially because it’s backdrop was the skyline of Shanghai. We wasted no time and headed out into the gloomy city. Our goal: to go to the top of the tower that looked like a beer opener. What we realized when we arrived there was that it was actually the second tallest building in the world. The tallest building in Asia and also the tallest observatory in the world. Nice. It had just been finished in 2008. Our experience felt futuristic as we were guided by clone-like guides to various fast-paced slideshows and an elevator that took us to the 100th floor in less than a minute. From the top we could see our ship amidst the city buildings. We were up there for sunset and saw all of the buildings come alive with lights.
Everytime we were in a taxi the driver would ask, “Obama?” yes. Obama! And they would somehow communicate that they were excited that he was in Shanghai! During one ride we heard part of his speech on sustainability in China. It was unreal to hear our president’s voice when he was in the same city as us a half world away.
When we were in the markets Obama was also talked about, but in a different way. Those who sold knock-offs and stolen goods were extra cautious. While hunting for a purse, I was taken through a series of five secret doors. When I asked her why she said that security had increased because Obama was in town.

China: The Great Wall

2009-11-19T06:59:00.002-06:00

THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA!! We arrived late at night and had dinner at the base before we began our trek up the dark mountain to the Wall. It was freezing, literally less than zero degrees. Our local guide powered up the hill with nothing but a little flashlight. Our large group spanned for hundreds of feet behind him. I followed as close as I could. After a fifteen minute hike we reached the wall. I could still see little flashlights way below winding up the mountain. Our guide said we needed to go seven towers over. So we started slipping and sliding in the dark towards the seventh tower. This entailed walking on narrow paths with no wall or rail. We all slipped or fell a few times going up and down the stairs and ramps in disrepair. Our local guide gave us each a matt and a sleeping bag. We split into groups and went to different towers. Our guide passed us as we set up our bags. We asked him where he was sleeping, he laughed and said he was going home.
We wondered exactly how dangerous it was to be sleeping outside in the snow on part of the wall that is not maintained or patrolled. We feared it would become Lord of the Flies because no one was looking out for us. We convulsed and shook all night long as we tried to huddle as close together as we could. Not even Jim Beam could keep us warm. I did not sleep most the night, no one did. I closed my eyes and thought warm thoughts but mostly hoped that death would come soon.
It was all worth it to see the sun rise over one of the seven wonders of the world.
In the morning I did not see any locals. A rumor was passed down the wall saying to head east. So we did. For four hours we walked, slipped, climbed, stumbled, got turned around, and guessed how far we had gone. It was the best way to experience the Great Wall. It was so much fun. It was so much work. It was all so unforgettable. We reached the zipline and huddled together as we waited in line to descend. Taylor and I screamed “I CLIMBED THE GREAT WALL!” as we streamed down the mountain with a crystal clear lake below us.

China: Beijing

2009-11-19T06:58:00.002-06:00

Beijing Top 5:
1)      the weather in Beijing reminded me of Wisconsin. The city reminded me of Milwaukee. Minus the number of apartment buildings. In India the density of the population was seen through homelessness. In China the density could be seen through the numerous of gigantic apartment buildings. Each one was probably home to over a thousand people and there were rows of them.
2)      We had a packed day touring Tiananmen Square, the Forbidden City, and the temple of heaven. Danny and Nick made it a point to get in as many Asian tourist pictures as possible. A lot of us were asked if we could be in a photo with them. Our guide explained that they thought we were movie stars. Then she pointed at me and said and a lot of them haven’t seen real blonde hair. The contrast of modern and ancient history was notable. It was within my lifetime that the student protests occurred at Tiananmen Square. Chinese history came alive as we wandered through the Forbidden City. I was reminded of the Disney movie Mulan. At the temple of Heaven old and new collided. The temple has a point that the rulers claimed was the exact center of the universe. Outside the temple walls was a park that was being used by locals for tai chi and kite flying. China has young population with a lot of free thought. This makes China a communist country with a capitalist economy.
3)      I have always wanted to be involved with the Olympics at some point in my life so seeing the Birds Nest and other venues of the 2008 Beijing Summer Olympics was incredible. I remember watching each of the Phelps races with Megan Sharkey in New Jersey. Now I was standing beside the arena that I had seen live through modern technology not too long ago.
4)      We went to an acrobat show before leaving town. I saw humans bend in ways that I didn’t think was possible. The acrobats performed amazing and dangerous feats in elaborate costumes. It isn’t every day that you see twelve girls riding one bicycle at the same time or a short man do back flips on a pogo stick, eh?
5)      We were set to take an overnight train from Beijing to Shanghai. Inside the train station we learned a cultural lesson. Chinese do not wait nicely in line. I have not been pushed around as much as when we were all funneling through to get to the train platform. Car number 15 was arranged with a long hallway down one side and open cabins on the other side. Each ‘cabin’ had six beds, three bunked on top of each other on each side. The top one was so close to the ceiling that you would have to squeeze in. There were eight of these cabins. We got on the train at ten pm. A voice came on and spoke Chinese for about ten minutes, we joked that he was telling a bed time story, but then seriously wondered how we were going to know when we arrived. We all passed out for twelve hours before we safely reached Shanghai in the morning.

China: Hong Kong

2009-11-19T06:57:00.002-06:00

Hong Kong Top 5 memories:
1)      Our ship docked inside of a mall. I could walk from my room, up to the gangway, across the bridge, and I would be inside of one of Hong Kong’s many shopping centers. There were stores that I have only heard of never seen. From Jimmy Choo, Burberry Juniors, Burt’s Bees, Miu Miu, they had everything. I headed for a ski apparel store to buy some warm clothes for our trip to the Great Wall. Out on Canton Street I got a surge of energy, it was as close as I have been to a city street like I have seen in the movies of New York City. Large advertisements and video screens crawled up the skyscrapers and we danced up and down the street running in and out of the various shops.
2)      Hong Kong is a series of islands. We took a ferry from our island to Central Hong Kong. Here Molly, Taylor, and I explored Hong Kong park. There was a court dedicated to Tai Chi, an aviary, an Olympic training mini-stadium, a wedding chapel, lakes, and paths that led through beautiful gardens under waterfalls and up and down the hill it was built into. It was great to see that admist such a busy city of steel there was a green sanctuary. Also, I loved that we could ferry so easily from place to place.
3)      On the list of things I was most excited to experience on my Semester at Sea journey, the Hong Kong night skyline was near the top. We were only there for one night and I wanted to have the best view available. When the opportunity to go to dinner with Mrs. Lawrence (George’s mom) and Mrs. Lawrence (Hong Kong local for the past few years and family friend to Nick and George) I did not want to pass it up. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to see the skyline, but also wanted the chance to see Hong Kong through a local’s eye. Alas, I was not disappointed. I was blown away when we got to go to the top of a skyscraper to the American Club. It was incredible to see the light show from a balcony above the skyline. Indescribable really. I think it had such an impact on me because Dad has tried to describe it so many times and I finally realized how awesome it is. It was the power and beauty of man’s achievement: tall, reaching the sky, each building with unique architecture and lighting, each a Mecca of strategy, ideas, goals, and accomplishment not only in its grand exterior but also in the symbolism of the interior.
4)      After a delicious Thai dinner, Mrs. Lawrence took us to an escalator than was more than a mile long and took pedestrians down the hilly island in the morning and went up the hill in the evening. She dropped us in Lan Kuai Fan the bar district. It was like Mardi Gras in the streets. Fashionable locals dominated the clubs and we floated up and down the winding street getting a taste for all the district had to offer. The next morning I received an email from Cuz (Emily from Miami) in response to my email: ‘I am in Hong Kong! What should I do?’ her answer was a perfect description of my night’s adventures and I felt like I had a completely successful night in amazing Hong Kong.
5)      By subway, we went to a different island that had two things we wanted. The Buddha on top of the mountain and the airport. We took a tram through the clouds to the top and we could not see the immense Buddha above the mountain village because it shrouded in clouds. The ride in the tram was fun though, there was a glass bottom and we could see a lot in our half hour ride up and down the mountain. However, this ride caused a panic later on as we raced to the airport. We ran through the airport and it reminded me of my close call in South Africa. Except this time we were cutting it even closer and no one spoke English. We ran with our big backpacks on from level to level looking for Hong Kong Express Airways. We checked in with twenty minutes to spare. Then had to get through security (where they take your temperature with infrared), take a subway to a different building then with not a minute to spare we got on a bus that took us the outdoor terminal.

Vietnam: Hookers and Motobikes

2009-11-19T06:56:00.002-06:00

Vietnam by day is crazier than Vietnam by night. In preport, they warned us over and over about the dangerous traffic. We even saw multiple demonstrations on how to cross a street. We were instructed to take a deep breath and go, at a steady pace, never stopping, from one side to another. If we stopped, went back, sped up, or ran death was probable. My eyes were wide as I witnessed the truth of the traffic. There were no rules. There weren’t many cars but there were several types of two-wheeled vehicles. We grabbed locals to act as our personal Moses parting the sea of danger.
I used the motobikes to go around the city. I had the same driver all day, Baak. He promised he wouldn’t let me get hurt. He always fastened my helmet for me. I was trying to go to a tailor to get a few suits made. I told my driver he had passed it and without hesitation he turned and made his way against traffic. Incredibly frightening. On our way to the market we ran a few red lights and I dug my nails into the seat as if it would somehow produce an airbag.
We went to the War Museum, formerly known as the Museum of American Atrocities. The name hindered tourists from visiting. But there was still proof that the victors write history when I gaped at mortifying pictures and read slanderous memento descriptions.
        We passed a park that functioned as a public gym. Locals stretched and worked out on jungle-gym like equipment that decorated the park along with shrubbery.
        I got my nails done. I think they were done by a prostitute. Baak took me somewhere where the ladies all wore skirts that didn’t cover their entire behind. Their only role was ‘massaging.’ There were men doing the haircuts. She brought out a box full of old nail polish. She kept calling me beautiful and comparing our skin. I watched men get escorted to an elevator then be joined by at least two more girls before the doors closed. There were beautiful girls in platform heels who had the job of stroking the men’s arm and talking to them while they were getting their haircut. It wasn’t long before they headed to the elevator never to be seen again with only half a hair-cut. I realized I was the only woman-customer there. I tried to make conversation. Telling her what I did the night before. She said, ‘ya ya! You me. Dance later. At the club. What time?’ I think I unknowingly ordered myself a prostitute; I stayed in that night just to play it safe.

Cambodia to Vietnam: Full Throttle 24 hours

2009-11-19T06:55:00.002-06:00

I eat when I’m hungry, I drink when I’m thirsty, I celebrate each day,
and I’ll sleep when I die.

0430: our day begins with an unwelcomed alarm and a visit to Angkor Wat for an unforgettable sunrise. The bright orange and reds highlighted the sandstone temple as the sun crept up the sky elongating the reflection of the scenery in the pond in front of us.
0630: We came back to our beautiful hotel and had a huge breakfast. We waited for the other half that groggily joined us at breakfast after opting to sleep instead of see sunrise.
0800: Our first tour of the morning was at Ta Prohm- this is where tomb raider was filmed!! The trees had roots like vines and grew all over the carved stone. I think it’s crazy that we were allowed to climb all over these ancient ruins. There are no railings anywhere and no one around to say ‘hey put that 800year old pot down!’ so we ran around swinging from vines and pretending we were in Indiana Jones, stopping our explorations only to hear the guide point out important areas and tell us interesting facts.
1130: back at the hotel we had a bountiful lunch with all of the unusual khmer food one could wish for.
1230: we are packed and checked out of the hotel. It already feels like we have had a full day. With hours of temple viewing under our belt it was hard to rally the troops for our afternoon tours.
1300: A lot of people sat near the busses and waited. I am glad that we walked through the last temple- it was incredible. The stairs were built so steeply so that whoever scaled it would have to always have their face towards the temple and their body bowed. We scaled these stairs up and down all over, it felt like rock climbing!
1400: After our guide left and we had an hour before our bus left, Casey and I walked around looking at all of the carvings making up stories to go along with the stone-captured action.
1530: We are at the airport. We have been to an airport each day of our trip. Each one feels like it was constructed just for us- vacant and pristine. Once again Eddie, our trip leader, asks for an extra dollar from everyone in our group. This is a bribe, on top of the cost for our exit visas, for the Cambodian officials to let us out of the country.
1630: Our flight is delayed. I look at magazines: Cosmo magazine sold for nearly $16- outrageous!
1815: we are landing in Vietnam- it’s dark and Ho Chi Minh is so bright! We are all anxious to get back and go out into this new country.
1845: Everyone is having trouble with the Vietnamese officials in customs.
1945: The bus is plowing through the flooded streets. Each night the Mekong Delta overflows causing the streets to drown in the knee-deep water. I notice that most places have names like ‘lucky clothing’ ‘happy food’. The Vietnamese are superstitious and put luck and happiness in front of every named place.
2045: Back on the ship everyone is already gone. The graffiti board has a list of highly-recommended places to go at night. Casey and I race showering, eating, and getting ready.
2115: Casey and I are ready to go. We make a pact that we are going to go twenty four hours. 0430 to 0430.
2130: We set out to Le Pub to meet up with a group of friends. The ten minute taxi ride costs two dollars for six of us. Brad and Tommy say that we are only taking a taxi because us ladies are in dresses- it’s more fun to take the motobikes.
2140: Le Pub is in an alley. Really, the way we got there was saying we wanted to go to Alley 175. How we find places like this, I do not know.
2215: Everyone is wearing bandanas that say Vietnamese phrases on. Jugs of mixed drinks are five dollars. There are SASers behind the bar, apparently this has been the hang out while we were away, the bartenders and students are good friends. It is fun to exchange stories and adventures.
2330: It’s been determined that the place to go is Apocalypse Now. Le Pub empties onto the streets. There are busses, motobikes, and taxis. Of course, I opt for the motobike. Stephen chivalrously allows me the bike with helmet.
2340: A convoy of motobikes stream down the buzzing streets. The drivers confusedly take us several places before we arrive at the club with red carpet.
2400: The club is alive. There are guards at the mouth of the club and locals hailing cabs. The neck of the club is a narrow hallway leading in from the street; it is lined with well-dressed hookers. The body of the club is a moving abyss of people gravitating to the tall chairless tables scattered around. There are teachers here, there are more locals, there are only a few students. The arms of the club are the long bars that span the length of the club; the bartenders moving as quickly as possible to serve the never ending orders. The legs of the club extend from the body, they are floored open courtyards; the students are gathered here to chat. The majority of the students are instead chatting at the foot of the club- the dancefloor. Using our feet and hips to communicate.
0200: The lights are turning on. Everything that was covered under a shield night, strobe lights, and smoke is exposed.
0230: Hundreds of people are on the street. I wait with Molly for the crowd to clear. She and a group of friends have rented a hotel room for $15 a night and wants me to join.
0250: Her group piles into a taxi. Three of us are left. Two motobikes. Danny and I manage to grip ourselves to the back of one. The driver doesn’t know of the hotel. We ask him to find a pizza place. We spend quite a while zooming around the vacant streets that are still lit with the neon lights of the vibrant city. It was incredible to see the city this way.
0330: Back on the ship we go to the seventh deck to look at the city and the stars.
0400: The sky is turning lighter, black to blue. There is a little produce market being set up below us near the ship’s gangway.
0430: We made it. Cambodia to Vietnam. Ancient jungle temples to the electric jungle city.

Cambodia: Shop 'till you drop

2009-11-19T06:52:00.000-06:00

After lunch we went through the markets. If the vendors put a roof over their stands and became a supermarket it would be called: Same Same But Different... Everything 2dolla!
In Cambodia, the currency is Riel. But US dollars are used more commonly. The Riel has such a small value that they are used as the change to our dollars. Example: 500 riel= 23 cents. This is partly due to the fact that not too long ago, after the aforementioned national tragedies, several hundred American diplomats and humanitarians came to Cambodia to help reconstruct their country. They spent for themselves, for the country, and for the people. They were not using credit cards or debit cards, they were using cash. Everything was cheap so small bills (mostly one and five dollar bills) were used. It wasn’t too long ago that this country was in complete isolation, so they didn’t have much of their own currency- most people still bartered and traded. Also, in a country with such a small per capita population a few hundred foreigners made a huge impact. Eventually there were just as many dollars as there was riel. Now, when you see price tags they are in USD. When you pay for something that is $1.50 with $2, the change is 1700 riel- usually given in four small, bright colored bills.
Obviously, I shopped my little heart out. Not because I really wanted anything but because of how cheap things are. This is what would happen:
American Girl will be played by me. I look like a tourist to the tee (try as I might, I can’t help it). I am wearing dark jeans, a low cut-earth toned shirt, my trekking shoes, my hair is in braided pigtails and I wear no jewelry (safety measures of course) instead I am adorned with cameras and travel bags.
Cambodian Vendors will be played by three types: each with a specific sales tactic.
Vendor child: the younger the child the less clothes they wore. The younger children travel in groups it sounds like a choir is following you, singing soft and sad songs. The children mumble repetitive phrases about being able to buy food or go to school always drawing out the coda word, ‘pleeeassseeee’. Then beginning again. They follow closely at our sides but seem distant. They bob their heads all about searching for something but stare at nothing as they sing their begging songs. This girl wants me to buy fifteen bracelets for a dollar. They aren’t pretty, I don’t want them. She knows that I stopped to consider it so she zeroes in on me. Following me for well over half a mile. I have 1500 riel- less than fifty cents- I tell her I will give her this (unconvertible) currency for one bracelet. She is zombie like as she tucks away the money and gives me all fifteen bracelets. Justin tries to shoo away a child vendor by saying the only thing he wants is bug spray. You can’t make bug spray from weaving or witling so he thinks he is successful when the child leaves. However when we return in the afternoon the child is waiting for him- with bug spray…
Vendor pre-teen: I say pre-teen because life in a third world country ages the soul. Not the body, malnourishment causes the body to be stunted in growth and development. Yet, teenagers often provide for a large family or have similar burdens that we wouldn’t expect until mid-life. Anyway, these vendors are sharp. Trying to respect their culture by wearing long pants and conservative top I am wearing from walking and climbing under the high sun in the tropical jungle climate. I do not want to be followed by a parade of vendors. The pre-teens know this so they single us out. When we turn them down they make bets:
Vendor: ‘If I tell you the president of (Insert any country here)/ the capital of (insert any state/ providence/ country here) you will buy these postcards.’ It’s a command not a request.
American: ‘okay buddy, tell me the capital of Wisconsin.’
V: ‘Madison. Postcards.’
A: ‘California’
V: ‘Sacramento, where you from lady? Postcards.’
A: ‘Not fair. Who is the president of Canada? The king of Morocco? The capital of Ghana?’
The vendor knows every answer. Even to questions I don’t know the answer of, they answer confidently enough that I believe them. I try to stump them over and over. I end up with at least four packs of postcards by the end of the day.
Vendor adult: desperate. I touch a pair of pants and they are by my side offering them to me for five dollars. I say I am not interested. The price is cut to three dollars. I apologize, I was just looking. I walk away and they call out two dollars, final offer. I don’t want the pants! I just touched them! He is at my side when I stop at the next stand. One dollar for a pair of pants. Fine! I will take the pants! I empty my bags; I have things I forgot I had even bought. I have things that I do not know what to call. I have clothing items that I cannot figure out how to wear. However, I do not have buyer’s regret. Like my mama taught me, if you save more than you spend it’s always considered a success

Cambodia: I had no idea

2009-11-19T06:51:00.000-06:00

Our arrival to Cambodia was eventful to say the least. We took a small airplane. It was one of the shortest plane rides I have ever been on, just under 30min. But it was by far the scariest. Everything was going smoothly as we filled out our Cambodian visas and customs forms. That was until we took a sudden drop from the air! For a mere second or two I felt suspended in gravity. I couldn’t even make a noise but there were several people screaming in the rows behind me. I looked across the aisle to Kelly (from Miami University) and we laughed uncomfortably. A minute later there was a loud shaking sound and I could feel the nose of the plane dipping and the suspended feeling came back. I shrieked and sunk my nails into the poor victim beside me. The pilot came on the intercom and said “ladies and gentlemen we have begun our decent.” Thank God.

        We visited an orphanage in Phnom Penh. It had been started by a Semester At Sea alumnus, Terry. We were all led by hand around the compound by the kids. We watched a traditional dance about fighting monkeys- later I saw professionals do it too. They led us to the roof where we could see city buildings with clay roofs all around us. It started pouring and we sought shelter inside where they showed us things they had made from recycled rice bags. I talked with Ben, a volunteer and SAS alum, for a while. He talked about his adventures from 2004. He has since graduated and spent a year in the work world. He decided a desk job wasn’t for him, so he contacted Terry and has decided to volunteer for five months in Cambodia teaching English to the orphanage children and figuring out his next move.

        Our itinerary said we were heading to the natural museum and our guide began telling us about the history of the Khmer Rouge. Then we were at a police blockade. Then our guide left the bus. Then we all worried because he was out of sight for too long. Then our driver left the bus. Then our trip leaders began asking for a cell phone to call for help. We tried to look through the rain covered windows but all I could see was a group of men stirring a large vat of stew under a tarp awning. Finally, our guide returned. He explained that the police wanted money to let all of us Americans through. I don’t understand exactly what happened but I know that our guide was really upset for the rest of the night. He said that this is a dilemma. The government wants the economy to improve, tourism is a great way to do that, but the police are corrupt and he fears this will make tourists not want to come back. I thought it was exciting.

        Our hotel was directly across from the American Embassy. Our friend Griffin had a balcony off of his room. We all gathered there and watched the activity in the streets below. That night was the last night of the Light Festival and we had a great view of the celebration flooding the streets below.

At a traditional Khmer dinner, which was enough to be my appetizer, we asked our guide about a club we had heard of called, ‘The Heart of Darkness.’ Our guide didn’t understand what we were asking and told us to never walk alone at night- especially in the heart of darkness. Nevertheless we took tuk-tuks (the Cambodian version of a rickshaw) to the club. It ended up being a gay club full of hookers. But we danced to the old top 40 American hits nonetheless.

        The next morning after we visited the haunting killing fields. Our bus was engaged in a heated debate over whether to go to the natural museum or genocide museum. Justin a hilarious friend from Stanford made a convincing argument for the genocide museum. He argued that the history of the Khmer rouge, the genocides that wiped out over 2 million people from a population smaller than California’s, and America’s decision not to get involved were all too recent for our generation to avoid. Although statues and art would have been interesting, we can get our art fix in the markets. We saw photos of victims and the torture methods they endured. I am glad he made this argument because the reeducation school we visited was eye opening.

        We took another short plane ride up to Siem Rep. We went directly to the temples of Angkor Wat to watch the sunset in the reflecting pools. The first time I saw a picture of them was when Grandma and Grandpa received their National Geographic Magazine in the mail and it was on the cover. That is also the moment I decided to go on the Cambodia trip. Seeing it in person was humbling, Angkor Wat was immense and so carefully constructed. It is amazing that only one fifth of it is uncovered. The rest is still out there in the jungle, it reminds me of the jungle book.
        As I have said, according to what I have read and what was confirmed by our tour guide, Cambodia’s main industry is tourism. Nothing makes this more obvious than the amount of hotels that line the street. On short ride to ancient temples, at least seven five-star hotels will unfold from the landscape rotating beside us. This makes sense. If they want the industry to grow they need the infrastructure to support it. We stayed in the Borei Wat Hotel and Spa. It was gorgeous. Hard wood floors, beds comfortable enough for the princess and the pea and, white drapes twirling around the doorway to the balcony that looks over a crystal blue pool framed in thick tropical landscape.
        Kelly and I took advantage of the Spa. I had no idea Cambodia and Vietnam were known for their massage services. For an inexpensive price I was treated to a ‘Healing Massage’ for a full hour. I have never gotten a massage before. We were separated into two rooms. My masseuse did not speak English. She held out her hand and said ‘naked.’ Okay. She started rubbing me down with oil and I realized how tense my body was. I was falling into an imagined realm of peace listening to crickets and the lapping pool. Okay. Then I heard smacking coming from the other room. I started laughing. Okay? Then my lady gets on top of me and starts smacking my legs and butt. Okayyyy… this process continues for a while, when I hear smacking coming from the room next to me I brace myself for the ‘healing.’ Then she flips me over so I am fully exposed and I am reaching for a towel and she puts her weight on my neck forcing my chin into my sternum she keeps pushing and my head falls between my legs and I keep going like a summersault and we both collapse onto the mat. Oh.kay! I was extremely sore the next day. Not Okay. What’s the hype about massages anyway?

Vietnam: Playing Chicken in the Saigon River

2009-11-19T06:50:00.000-06:00

One day, Taylor and I decided to do homework in a hallway on deck 7 since the front was closed due to high winds. Dean Nick came by and made a joke about his fan club always hanging out outside his door. He ended up showing us his massive suite and the view from his balcony. During our conversation he told us his memory of pulling into Ho Chi Minh City port from the last time he was on Semester At Sea. I have found that each professor, staff, crew, or faculty member who has sailed before has a different favorite port. And before each port I think, ‘Nope. No way. I am sleeping in because ____ said the last port was the prettiest.’ But sure enough like the ship will surely dock, I will surely find myself convinced that the next port will be breathtaking.

Docking in Cape Town is still a blazing image branded on my mind: the sun rising over Table Top Mountain with a sprawling metropolitan city along its base. Docking in Spain is like the memory of a first love- after my first eight days on the ship with nothing by sea around me, the sight of shore from the top deck was miraculous. Each port has that first impression image of beauty. But docking in Ho Chi Minh City was my favorite so far because docking here was an Experience.
To get to the city we had to wind our big home down the Saigon River for three hours. To give an idea of how wide it was: not only could we see both sides, but if I were to shout out to someone standing on the river banks they would definitely hear me and I could probably have heard them if the Captain wasn’t blowing the startlingly loud horn at the time. Seeing a country by bus window is one thing, seeing it from a ship is another. We could see little huts along the river. We could see lines of fishing boats tied up waiting for low tide. We called out to fishermen as they floated by. We placed bets on games of chicken with other boats. It was awesome.

That was all I saw of Vietnam for a while because once we were docked I was off to Cambodia.

INDIA: How to preserve the memory

2009-11-02T08:57:00.004-06:00

I have a bad memory. Maybe it’s because so many thoughts bounce around in my mind. Maybe it’s because I’ve killed too many brain cells. Or maybe it’s because life moves at such a fast pace that I never have time to properly file away a feeling or experience. For a memory to stay with me it does not have to be a moment of great achievement, a nail-biting situation, or the realization of profound thought. Actually, I wish I could recall those moments more clearly. I have realized that an honest description defining each of my five senses is only way to construct my memories in a way that catapults the reader into my own reality. Thus I have unknowingly created my own rubric for cataloging details about a country or culture. Look out Hoefstede, Hall, and Trompenaars; here I come.

Sight
When the sun sets, bursts of bright orange and yellow are brushed across the sky’s smog canvas, the sherbet colors a gradient of smog-soluble watercolors diluting the sky’s polluted. Sunsets in India are compared to those in the old, list topping polluted Los Angeles. Four of the top ten cities affected by air pollution are in India. I was told that sunsets in India will stand out vividly among the thousands of sunsets seen in a lifetime. Again it wasn’t until I saw it that I truly understood. I see black smoke coming from the exhaust of a taxi in front of us. Behind us, I see a bicyclist covering their nose and mouth with a handkerchief. Before we even reach port I see the crew laying plastic and cardboard on the staircases and down the long hallways to protect carpet from the natural filth of glorious India.
The density of the population is visible through the images of poverty stricken crowds of emaciated bodies covered in dirt clothed in rags. I see a swarm of shack homes and the families getting a night’s rest on the side of a busy road. I see a petty theft of bread. I can count the ribs on this little boy. I see a girl tuck her school rationed crackers into her shorts and her jealous mother at the school gates putting her hand out and claiming them for herself.
I have taken notes in science lectures about pollutions effect on agriculture, the atmosphere, and my body. I notice the activists on campus and pause long enough to hear the list of pollution’s effect on daily life and I roll my eyes as they begin to preach that earth’s future is in dire straits. I have taken exams testing my knowledge of the Malthusian Theory.
Now I see it. I travel, I see, I understand.

Hearing

The sound of India is distinctly different during the day and night.
With sixteen different main languages, horns are used as a common communication. In India every ride is a nail-biting experience. Horns are used by drivers to self-regulate the vehicle flow. We ventured by rickshaw to Spencer’s Plaza (a roof-covered version of Moroccan souks). We screamed with questioning smiles on our faces as we tried to balance the tiny cart and cheered when we successfully high-fived friends in another rickshaw that we streamed by.
Molly and I met Said, the kindest shopkeeper, while we were in a rush to get back to the ship. We were in enough of a rush to trust his twenty year old son Tosef to drive us back to the ship. “If you can survive learning to drive in India, you can do anything!” he announced as he started the engine. He was a good enough driver to get us to the ship on time, we only stopped twice. First when the road closed was closed by police. I rolled down my window and heard the chanting of teacher’s protesting something indecipherable. The traffic started again with the sound of a long whistle. Our second stop occurred when we heard the crunching of our front bumper and the yelling of a motorcyclist- a major earful for a minor scratch.

A unique sound from India, the repetition of English words and sentences in a training room at Perot Systems. I visited this outsourcing center with my intercultural communications class.
By night, the chaos of India is put to sleep by the melodic beat of dance drums and the rhythmic sound of port workers loading a train.

Smell

How to describe the scent of a nation? Hesitantly I untie my laundry bag.
Gasoline fumes are released into our small cabin. The source is my tarred capris from my painting job at the Dalit school. My job: to paint blackboards. My paint: a mixture of gasoline and tar. When I ran low more gasoline was added. The only way to wash it from my hands was with a gasoline soaked rag. Also contributing to the smell is each article of clothing worn while weaving through traffic in an open-air rickshaw.
The salty smell of sweat permeates the room next. Source: my tie-dye tee that I wore while walking to the rural Kanicheepuram village down an unpaved road which cut through large a large field that absorbed the equatorial sun. I recalled the program director saying that the child laborers in the quarry were only allowed a break when sun was highest because the rocks were too hot to touch. We laughed when I pointed out that we had begun our mile trek at the point of day that even child laborers are permitted to seek shelter from the sun. When we reached the village, we all wiped away our perspiration trying to look presentable.

Taste

Taste is intrinsically linked to smell.
I smiled as I pulled out a pashmina scarf that I wore to Indian family dinner at Said’s house.
At first I was skeptical of his incredible Semester At Sea discounts and an invitation to his home. But Said and Tosef had been so helpful showing us around the city and explaining Indian culture, I accepted his good will. I bought this colorful silk from his shop (along with many other things). I unwrapped it to wear to dinner to show my appreciation, it had the familiar scent of his shop- incense and tea. Now as I smell it there is a residual scent of dinner- an array of spices. The curry scent makes my stomach crave the delicious multi-course meal.
I stuff the filthy clothes back into the bag but keep the scarf out. I like it’s smell because all together the scents trigger a homey familiar feeling and there’s no smell better than that.

Touch

When exploring, my friends laugh and say I am going to get myself in trouble because I touch, poke, and prod everything.
You can touch anything mass produced and it will feel the same in every country, maybe a little grimier in some. The way to get a distinct sense of a country through touch is to examine the detailed things. Like the century old temple carvings of marble and stone tell the stories of the Hindu gods, each scene frozen in time by precise craftsmanship. Or the wall hanging made from pieces of colorful Indian wedding dresses, each unique in material, beading, pattern, and size, and meticulously sewn together, linking happy memories together into a work of art. Or the soft touch of a little girl’s hand, her young skin is a reminder that she has endured too much too early. Or the fresh paint of a political symbol, two leaves or a spread hand, on the outside of someone’s home. Or the raised henna itching as it dries in a creative design on my hand.

It is easy to say a country has touched one’s life. What is difficult is encapsulating the reason why. I think that exploring the five senses will help me remember exactly how my memory of a country was defined by my experiences.

INDIA: Dalit Work Service

2009-11-02T08:48:00.003-06:00

You must be the change you wish to see in the world- Gandhi.

Gandhi is the most well-known social activist from India. After making his point in South Africa he moved back to his homeland and begun his pacifist work towards social equality. Since then, many other political, spiritual, and humanitarian leaders have steps towards the abolishment of the Indian Caste System. There are four main castes: the Brahmins (teachers, scholars and priests), the Kshatriyas (kings and warriors), the Vaishyas (agriculturists and traders), and Shudras (service providers and artisans). Within these four groups there are over 2,000 subgroups. The lowest sector of the Shudras is the Dalit, the untouchables. In 1950 India adopted its Constitution fashioned after our own, emphasizing human rights. Although the caste system is no longer an official part of the Hindu relgion, it is still deeply enculturated in the attitudes of Indians, especially rural in rural India.

My first day in India I was amped to do service work in a Dalit Village. I was surprised to be greeted by song, lei of eucalyptus flowers, and a spiritual blessing. We were paraded by school children down the street past awestruck onlookers. Upon our arrival a few groups of children beautifully danced for us. I was beginning to get upset, it seemed like these kids were just fine, I wanted to go and actually work to help. All doubts were queued as soon as the intricate welcome reception ended. I was told to follow, to grab a paintbrush and tin, and begin. I painted blackboards with a paint mixture of gasoline and tar. Class did not stop, I was just pointed to a classroom and I would go in to begin. Of course there was a lot commotion to the teachers’ dismay. They would ask my name, I would say ‘I’m Kate,’ they ooed ‘her name is Imkate.’ I learned to say just ‘Kate’ and to not attempt to pronounce all of the names declared in my direction. I would say ‘what pretty/handsome names!’ Whenever I paused my horrific painting to interact with a class one of the leaders would come in and say ‘work, work, work’

The school we were working at had been deemed worthy of repair by our service organization. A group of us painted blackboards, some planted small shrubs, and some whitewashed the walls. The school deserved all of the attention our small group could give in the few hours we spent there. Over a thousand children make it to school each day to be instructed by only thirty six dedicated teachers. There was not enough room for all of the students, some classrooms were situated outside between buildings. When school let out, we all celebrated good work playing and taking pictures (I’m telling you, every child I have ever encountered on this trip is fascinated by cameras)

I had my first extreme toilet experience here, the hole in the ground type experience. I was escorted to a outhouse that was kept locked. A little boy ran in before me and turned on a water spout. The water flowed into a full bucket causing the overflow to run down the sloped floor towards.. the hole. I stared for a bit, thinking of my approach, and eventually made it out alive.

At the end of the afternoon I had tar all over my body and clothes. A girl came up to me and started rubbing my arms with gasoline. She said it was the only way to get the tar off. I was fine with this until the president of the school concluded our service by leading us in a peace meditation that involved several open flames.

INDIA: village overnight, microlending, and temples

2009-11-02T08:41:00.002-06:00

At dinner the program director answered our questions. Upon pulling into the school I was put-off by the large banners that had the program name and the director’s face proportionally stretched across. After his Q&A session, I had learned enough about the director to know that he was more selfless than the banners let on. Also, Molly pointed out that facial recognition was a huge part of Indian marketing. This is probably due to their literacy rate.

While we stayed at the RIDE program offices, the director’s wife made us each meal. My favorite thing was the lushious mangos. I remember eating Indian mangos at Josh’s house in high school and thinking they were delicious. How exciting that I got to eat Indian mangos in India!

Our sleeping conditions were awesome. Awesome, like an awesome story to tell and a great experience, nothing regal. We walked up three flights of stairs. At the base of the next flight there was a community bathroom, a toilet, a sink, a bucket, and a drain. When I walked into the room, the image of the cartoon Madeline flashed into my mind. There were six beds closely lined up on each side of the room. The beds however were not like the colorful cartoon. There were different shapes and lengths but all were cots plus thin padding plus a piece of sheet fabric. The building must have once been a hospital, there were still IV holdings in the corner and monitors fastened to the walls. Also, there were strings draped back and forth across the ceiling, these must have been to hang sheets for privacy. The eerie effect was completed by the barred windows sans screens or shutters. I stayed up late chatting with a few kids in my group. I love hearing people’s stories. Everyone on Semester At Sea has something interesting to talk about. (I am still searching for my go-to story, fact, or monumental experience.) Julianne works as an EMT, backpacked through Alaska, and took a semester off and moved to Australia for a while. Suzie dropped out of high school and is completing her associates degree in design, she believes everyone has a color that represents their aura. Eric goes to UVA, the school that sponsers SAS, he lost all of his luggage and started from scratch in Spain and is still accumulating things he needs. Three new friends from a simple conversation on a muggy evening in rural India.
The next morning I was told by Barbara who was sleeping in the bed next to me, that a large iguana had crawled through the window at night and decided to curl up next to me. She shooed it away. I am glad I didn’t roll over or wake up for this.

         The second day of our trip was spent learning first-hand about micro-lending. We drove to a rural village. Our bus was unable to go down the road that led from the highway, so we walked. We passed a purple structure that was a hangout for the goats; we later found out it was a mausoleum for the last village president. To receive their guests wholeheartedly, we were ushered to a small temple. We removed our shoes and were odorned with flowers and the traditional forehead dots. The dots are made organically with flower and spices. They are marked to remove stress and bad thoughts. A spiritual service was performed to ask for a blessing on the visit.
   We were invited into the current president’s home where our director showed us record books of loans. Each week, different women’s groups met and delegated loans. They supported each other keeping on track to payback loans. We were given onion cookies that tasted like they sounded.
       We also visited a home (a hut with clay walls and palm leaved roof) occupied by a widowed woman, her three children, her parents, and her sister’s family. The woman had petitioned for a loan to start a pottery business. With $400 she was able to start her business and support her family. I bought a clay piggybank.
     Throughout our driving we stopped at a few Hindu temples. They were beautiful stone and marble carvings that reached high into the sky. The first one we visited had 180 separate meditation coves, each with its own depiction to focus on. The other was built in 1994 and had large colorful statues of a few of the most prominent gods.

INDIA: Child Labor and Rural Education

2009-11-02T08:40:00.002-06:00

The school we visited was started by a man who was expelled from the government education system because he believed in a different education style: he answered children’s questions honestly about religion, politics and social issues. Against the will of his family and society he started The RIDE Program: Rural Institute for Development Education aims to bring victims of child-labor up to speed so that they can enroll in government schools. Basically, kids of all ages come to school when they can and are able or allowed. Attendance is usually low, parents do not want their kids to leave home because they are jealous or they need them to work. Some of the kids were part of silk-weaving families. Some had the dangerous job of working in a quarry where explosions played eeny meeny miny mo with the children’s lives. The kids were behind in schooling because they had not yet been able to attend because of forced labor. The school aimed to teach fundamentals like the alphabet, washing hands, and simple arithmetic. Most memorably, there were posters of large gruesomely mutilated bodies laying in streets because the school wanted to educate the students about safety, specifically staying out of the streets.

We played in the dirt schoolyard with the kids. It was peculiar that they were visibly divided in two groups: the silk-weavers and the quarry workers. The silk-weavers had shoes and school uniforms. The quarry workers wore a pathetic excuse for clothes and their bodies were much dirtier than the others. I thought it was hypocritical to have started a school based on establishing equality of education among the youth but not have made an effort to break barriers inequality within the school.

I stood back on the school steps watching everyone play and taking photos trying to capture the happiness in the schoolyard. Mom, my compassionate guide in life, has always said that in orphanages around the world and other services that help society, the young adults don’t benefit as much. They are not as cute as the little children and they are not old enough to be trained for the real world. Sure enough, standing on the outskirts were three older boys not receiving attention or asked to join in a game. With my mother’s humanitarian spirit I engaged them all in a game of catch. Our group leader Mr. Wulfman from the Field Office, had brought his two sons along on our village trip. The younger one Gabe joined in our game as well. The Indian boys spoke no English and we spoke no Tamarin. Nevertheless, we all laughed and enjoyed our games. Gabe and I showed them how to play volleyball. We practiced their English counting, seeing how many hits we could keep it in the air. We demonstrated monkey-in-the-middle, our friends enjoyed playing keep away from Gabe, but once one of them was in the middle they didn’t understand why they were being left out. So we stuck to basic catch.

The program director pointed out one boy that was fifteen due to malnutrition he looked age nine. He kept his brother on his hip like a host carries its parasite. The younger brother looked no older than two but was in fact age five. Anytime the younger parasitic brother was separated from his host, he wailed. I felt…I felt sad and helpless. The older brother was already being held back in his education and his physical development. Now, he was obviously an outsider because he had his other half with him at all times. I tried to involve him in our game, he smiled because he was able to catch the ball with his free hand. The other Indian boys never threw the ball to him. When he fumbled the ball it rolled behind him into wet mud. Through the universal communication of laughter and neglect, the brother and I both knew that he was hindered by his parasite. He left the game. It was so sad. It was noble for the brother to take care and understand his little brother. The little one needed to be taught to stand, to be alone, or at least accept the arms of another.

I was helpless because I am so unfamiliar to their lives. No one told us what to expect, what we rode away with were our raw observations. Less than two hours were spent at the RIDE school. I was thankful, appreciative, and moved. Thankful for my own education, the ability to go the ability to touch the lives of these school children, to have a mom that taught me how to handle these situations. Appreciative of the opportunities I have had in education thanks to my parents and grandparents, starting with the Montessori school that taught me at age four the fundamentals these preteens were learning, an amazing prep school that gave me the tools for analysis and opened my mind to experiences like these, and the choice and ability to attend a top ranking school. Moved to help the world through education. Moved to learn more about these children’s lives. Moved to question the structure of our own education system.

India: Is there room for everybody?

2009-11-01T12:20:00.000-06:00

Bus rides, like most things, are great in moderation. Looking out the window is like watching a movie, better yet like seeing a discovery channel show in the IMAX. I had already played a part in the congestion of Indian traffic, as a pedestrian, in a taxi, and most memorably in a rickshaw. But, watching the scenes change as quickly as the bus moves gives way to a completely different response to a country.

The crowdedness of India was stressed repeatedly during preport. It wasn’t until I had my elevated panoramic view that this was validated for me.

India has a population of over one billion (one-sixth of the world’s population). My first few days, I didn’t realize the impact of the population density. I thought there was not much traffic at all. I could walk among the crowds with ease. From the bus-view I could see it: the crowds, the expansive living areas, the lack of living areas, the array of people, and the disorder. In other places, crowds form around specific places. In India, crowds form up and down every street and alley, inside and outside of stores, with two to fifty people, for a specific reason or (on most occasions) no apparent reason at all. In all seriousness, on my two hour bus ride, there probably wasn’t a space longer than a half mile that wasn’t decorated with the compliant people of India. In Ghana, I had been shocked by the reality of poverty- living in a shack. By South Africa, I was accustomed to being surrounded by poverty. In Ghana, the shacks lined the major roads. In South Africa, the shacks were crammed within the walls of the infamous townships. What was striking about India was because of the population the shacks were piled everywhere: up and down every street in rows, between stores, stacked upon each other down allies, and finding foundation in every nook and cranny available. Although there are these expansive living areas, it is not enough for this population that is growing quickly at nearly 2% a year (globally it is just over 1%). Many people and entire families post up on sidewalks, doorsteps, and in ditches. One of the uncanny sights I came across was not on the bus ride but in a rickshaw around nine at night. On a ride to the beach along the busiest road in Chennai, I saw real life. By day, families stood guard around their makeshift shelter. By night, there were dozens of people lying on the large slab of sidewalk under a thin sheet or often just the sky.

On the bus I passed the time trying to answer questions like: was that slab of concrete there for a civil engineering purpose or for the purpose of giving an area to sleep? Who among this multitude of people we are passing sleeps on the street? It is hard to distinguish economic class when every woman is in an equally bright and beautiful sari walking through the dirt. Who has a job? Who is Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, or Jainist? Where is everyone going? What are they doing?

Sea Olympics!

2009-10-22T12:44:00.000-05:00

The games were intense. I am member of the Yellow Sea. Our color was red. If this alone did not foreshadow the confusion of our team, then our meager construction paper taped to a lacrosse stick torch that was presented by an eccentric guy in a Speedo at the opening ceremonies would definitely stand as our introduction to the Olympic community.

The games included synchronized swimming, relay races, spelling bees, banner contests, human knot, three-legged race, crab soccer, volleyball, doge ball, fishing, tug-a-war, and so many more. I was chosen for the human knot, water pong (civil war style) and flip cup teams.

If any other ship had cruised by us at any point during the day they would have not have thought of Semester At Sea as an academic institution. Music was playing on the speakers, college kids were running around on all of the decks chanting and screaming, and there was an atmosphere of good fun and chaos.

Pong was incredibly competitive. Never have I seen more heated debates over a pong game and I go to Miami, this is saying something. The rules were unclear from the beginning and when the Mediterranean Sea started using other players to hit balls away our Yellow Sea demanded a rerack. We got 3rd place in the tournament. The championship ended with tables overturned and chaos on deck 6 aft.

Our team ran around the ship like a bunch of chickens, sporting as much red as they could, with their heads cut off. We had a BBQ. BBQ night means eating like hibernation is tomorrow. I had three hamburgers, a hotdog, and a plethora of ice cream. Everyone enjoys food choices that stray from the usual. It was glorious to have spent a day off the coast of the Maldives where the water was 86 degrees and the air was 82. After dinner, a group of us jumped in the pool, which is filled with seawater and had an impromptu dance party while watching the sun set on the ship’s wake. It was cool that after a day of insane rivalry between the eight teams that we could all celebrate the fun day together.

To everyone's surprise, the Yellow Sea ended up in second! Yay!

Mauritius: It's always 5 o'clock

2009-10-22T12:21:00.001-05:00

So, I am standing there in my state of admiration of all the island’s striking features, I am sending off wish-you-here vibes to my family and friends, and listing off the reasons I am blessed: this place, these people, this journey, these memories… as I am feeling the water I am tackled to the sand and called out of my own world by blaring techno music from the center villa where pong games had started. It’s always 5 o’clock Mauritius time.

We kayaked out to the coral reef where the waves were breaking a ways out. It was so fun! We had three kayaks we would take turns between paddling and riding on the back. Sean paddled a surfboard ou. It became rougher with every length we went. Our kayaks were flipping and it was a game to try to stay above water for an extended period. We boogie boarded and got tossed around as we rode the waves. Dark clouds were on the horizon so we paddled in, save Brian, Austin, and Johnny. We were grilling lunch as it started to drizzle. Then we were admiring a rainbow as the three boys lugged themselves up the beach. The rain had brought even rougher waves and had thrown them into the coral reef. Blood everywhere; we sent them to the emergency room. They returned bandaged up but in good spirits.

It is just impossible to capture an image of bright and clear constellations drawn out on an unspoiled ink black canvas and framed by the Milky Way. Besides- after a night swim, lit only by the pure crescent moon above the Indian Ocean, and collapsing onto the white beach- No one cares about the sand sticking to our salty bodies. No one considers moving from the comfort of good conversation. No one can bear to break away from the arms of a friend. And No One ever thinks about getting up to get a camera to capture the moment. The picture would not be able to do the moment justice anyway.

We tried our best to cook. Cooking was really an act of foraging through all of the villas for something that had not been eaten or destroyed by an inebriated thought process. We made hamburgers on coconut buns, someone grilled a steak, grilled cheese was a favorite until we ran out of bread and cheese, and we ate avocados on crackers, and then resorted to just Pringles.

While I took a nap in a hammock (we all know how much I love hammocks!) Taylor had conjured up a small chocolate cake with sprinkles. And although our villa stopped its running water and we had been using Captain Morgan in lieu of water for pancakes, the cake was somehow delicious. It was a simple cake made wonderful by the people who sang happy birthday.

The second night was just as beautiful. The boys had chopped wood in the morning and we dug a pit in the sand. Using eagle scouts as our resource, we successfully made a large beach bonfire. I know it’s corny, but we honestly sang and told stories around the fire. We sat on the beach until early the next morning.

On our last day, we did not waste any time- we were on the beach for as long as we could. Our bus came at noon to take us back into the city. But we didn’t immediately take the water taxi back to the ship. We went to a bar/restaurant ‘Keggers’ on the waterfront and told them it was my birthday. I was able to pick the soundtrack for our remaining hours on shore. All SASsers (as we call any member of our ship community) were returning to the port area and joining the crowd at Keggers. Everyone exchanged stories and had a great time before returning to the ship for our voyage to India.

Mauritius: 9,912 miles away from home for a 21st

2009-10-22T11:58:00.001-05:00

21 years after I was born I found myself on a beach, on the island country of Mauritius, halfway around the world. I was smiling in awe of the:

5 beachfront villas with large furnished porches and plenty of living space beautifully decorated with blue-green mosaics of sea glass. These paradise homes slept:

58 old and new friends from the ship, all of whom were exhausted from midterms and ready for some fun in the sun. Our adventures together began with:

2 buses brought us from the ship to the closest supermarket. We ran around the store as if we were on a timed shopping spree with no English food labels. Everyone laughed in excitement as we rang up all of our ‘necessities’.

3100 Mauritius Rupees which is over a thousand USD, paid for:

85 six-packs (largest available) of Phoenix brew that we crammed into every space and passed through the window when the bus was reaching capacity.

17 bottles of Island Green Rum that is locally made with the bountiful sugar cane island resource.

5 bottles of champagne, my birthday preference, to celebrate with.

10 or more additional bottles of liquors suiting everyone’s fancy

3 jugs of mango, pineapple, litchi, guava, and orange juices.

2 carts of food including something to satisfy everyone’s craving. Personally I picked up:

6 avocados a few large chocolate bars.

1 ½ hours later we arrived

72 hours of the most righteous birthday celebration began right there where I found myself; viewing the most postcard-worthy beach I had ever seen; throwing our bags that were packed with just swimsuits and toothbrushes onto beds; beading with perspiration from the wonderfully warm and humid island air; some of us running to the beach with snorkels and masks, some lathering sun lotion on to soak up some rays, some sprawling on hammocks in the shade of palm trees, some leading expeditions down the beach to the point of the bay where the volcano was in sight, some mixing drinks, some playing catch, and some standing there-entranced by the surroundings- taking it all in.

I'm On Safari!

2009-10-14T13:52:00.001-05:00

When was the last time you watched Disney’s The Lion King? Probably not too recently, but let me tell you this: when you are on Safari in Africa, the images, scenes, characters, and names come back to you as quickly as you can remember the song ‘The Circle of Life.’

The staff at Drifter’s Lodge was laughably taken aback when their ten new guests piled out of the van, not a single one over the age of 22. Kaylie, the youngest trainee tracker, recounted the scene to us as we sat around the fire one night. She was excited we were there, staff was committed to the Bush Lifestyle- they only leave for three days a month, and it’s usually to go on safari somewhere else. Kaylie missed seeing people her own age. She said we were uncharacteristic of the typical safari group in more ways than our age. They had sent a large van and a luggage trailer, but we just heaved our backpacks out of the van. We opted to immediately go on a game drive rather than ‘settle in.’ the staff was amused by Stephanie’s remark, “Oh are we leaving now? I have to put my safari outfit on!” Never before had a group demanded to see ‘The Battle of Kruger’ so many times. We stayed up late to talk about our adventures but were still spry and ready to go for our 4:45am wake up call.

We took pride when we were told that we ask way more questions than average. We agreed that we all learned more on our two day safari than in any accumulation of science classes. Our guide Mark quickly, adapted to our learning style by pointing out an animal then promptly answering all the questions he knew we would ask: A. what’s his name in Lion King? B. Have you ever killed one? C. Have you ever eaten one? D. When was the last time you saw one?

One of the first things we learned was The Big Five and how rare it was to see them at this time of the year.

African Buffalo: we saw a small herd of these on our first night drive. Mark uses a big spotlight to find game at night. It reminded me of shining for deer with dad out at the lake. We all are attentive; looking for eyes- not shapes (we learned this after many false alarms for tree stumps, rocks, and ponds). While driving by a watering hole we saw a few of these massive creatures. Mark said they are angry animals, to be quiet so they don’t charge.

Rhino: On our afternoon drive, I spotted these! A mom and her baby were standing in the brush as we passed. I got so excited I shouted RHINO! This startled them and they ran away across the road behind us. We were all excited to have seen our first baby animal.

Leopard: Andrew spotted this very rare animal. Mark said that he hadn’t seen one for months! We had already passed it, when Andrew suggested we reverse for a second, we were wary to do this because he had already had a few false alarms. We reversed. My eyes were the eyes of saucers as I became parallel with a massive leopard powerfully perched on top of a rock. I couldn’t even get my camera out; I was entranced by our eye contact. It was a mere moment before the whole jeep gasped and the bright leopard disappeared into the brush.

Elephant: We saw this guy on a night drive as we were crossing a dried river basin. When the light shone on his rear, it looked like a large boulder. He turned and looked at us; his long trunk up in the air like a periscope then turned and ran. Watching an elephant run is a peculiar thing, their bodies do not look like they are made to move yet they can run relatively quick.

Lion: We had seen four of the five and we’re confident that we would spot the fifth before we left. Mark said we had already been lucky but appeased us by playing along anyway. Around the time of dusk, when all of our eyes were deceiving us, Mario spotted jackals in the brush. We watched them devour a baby giraffe. Then! A lioness came and scared the group away from her prey. We tried to focus on her as the diminishing light made it more and more difficult to distinguish her well camouflaged body. I was standing on my seat, resting my elbows on the canvas rooftop when two cubs crossed the path to follow their mother.

Plus Some: Our jeep was electrified with excitement as we began our trek back to the lodge under the bright stars, Milky Way, and Jupiter. Even Mark was happy. The jeep paused and we all watched in silence as this strange, stubby opossum like animal crossed the path in front of us and disappeared as Mark whispered, “that’s an aardvark.” Mark hadn’t seen an aardvark in two years; there were several trackers that had never seen one in their life. He seriously warned us not to mention it because seeing a leopard and aardvark in the same day was unheard of. Giddily Mark began commending us as a foolish bunch of good luck charms.

Throughout our drives through the bush, we also saw a plethora of zebras, monkeys, giraffe, impala, baku, an array of birds, mongoose, bush babies, hippos, and more! I don’t think I will ever experience a zoo in the same way.

During our stay, we ate many unusual but typical South African meals. We had warthog stew, ostrich burgers, mined meat over beans, wild Africa cream liqueur, and impala sausage. When we were not eating near the fire pit or on one of our game drives we enjoyed our time together. It was impossible to be in the bush between 1000-1700, it was way too hot. During this time we hung by the infinity pool and ate the delicious snacks provided (homemade bread, mango juice, eggs, fruit salad that included gooseberries, you know… the typical snack cuisine). These moments were some of the most memorable as we floated around enjoying South African wine and liqueur and laughed about our already established Safari memories.

My lodging was amazing. It looked like a tent with a straw roof. We had a view of a water basin. During the night we could hear critters and animals walking afoot. Each night someone would guide us down to our tent and check for animals along the way. We were warned to always have our ‘monkey clip’ fastened because monkeys had learned to come in and mess things up. There were two people to each lodging; I made Stephen sleep near the door, I didn’t want to deal with any monkey intruders. During the time
My favorite part was the outdoor shower! How many people can say they were naked when they saw a zebra? Just another reason why life is good.

Independent Travel in South Africa

2009-10-14T13:24:00.000-05:00

Flying to Kruger was my first time being responsible for my own flight in a foreign country. Andy, my friend that organized our trip, put me in charge of two girls and myself since we were flying separately from the other seven.

Bridget is another example of ‘it’s a small world after all,’ she lives in Springdale Estates which connects to Bartlett Manor, which is where I live- in Brookfield, Wisconsin. She graduated from Catholic Memorial in ’05 with Jane’s sister Carly. Bridget is spunky, I was excited to travel with her. Jackie is from New York, has things done for her, bought for her, and is the type of person who forgets her passport.

We plan to meet at 0615 for breakfast on the ship. At 0616 the three of us are together, groggy but present, we are off to a good start.

At 0625 we are in a taxi. The driver says that it takes 25 minutes to get to the airport and we must be checked in an hour before our flight. Our flight is at eight, STEP ON IT! Bridget rhetorically asks, “Everyone have their passports!” Jackie doesn’t.

By the time we are on the road I bargain with the driver: if he gets a ticket for speeding we’ll pay double the fair; if he doesn’t get us to the airport in time we pay nothing.

He gets us to the door with five minutes to spare. We are relieved to find out that we have to be checked in a Half hour before the flight. The security procedure included putting my bag (with things that wouldn’t pass TSA standards) on the belt and walking through a detector- we wonder if it was even plugged in.

When the rest of the flight starts lining up we realize that we do not have the connecting flight ticket. The man at the desk says if we run we can get it from the counter. Cutting off angered passengers, we explain the situation and our rush. Things moved in slow motion has he processed our request and people behind us yelled.

We ran through security, grabbed our backpacks, and got onto the bus that took us to our South African Airways flight.

The man I sat next to let me have the window seat so that I could see the mountains poking through the clouds below us and the expansive, beautiful terrain. His name was Gary. He’s a native, a hippie, and lives a nomadic life that takes him around the world doing various jobs. He told me of his adventures in places that I have never heard of, places familiar to me in the United States, and of places that I was going to be heading on my voyage.

Our flight had a layover in Johannesburg. Whenever I told someone this they would A. give me a pained look B. say, “A bomb threat inside the airport is safer than taking a step outside.” C. Tell me a story about someone that knew someone that knew someone that was shot or mugged or raped in Joburg, as the locals call it.

My thought: adventure. My conscience: mom and dad wouldn’t be happy to know I was traveling by myself with two girls here. My guard: high. My mind: open.

Somewhat to my dismay, we boarded our next flight without harm or misadventure. As we took off I could see the obvious poverty from the sprawling multitude of shacks below us. I sat next to a couple that had moved from Texas to Mozambique four years ago. They had just opened a transition house with the mission to help young boys become productive young men by giving them the structure of a home and family. They had seven boys.

Kruger International Airport looks like a lake cabin. It’s about as big as one too. When we unboarded our plane we laughed and jumped in excitement- the scene around us was incredible: mountains, this funny little airport, a township, and so so much green! No security men really cared when we just hung out on the air strip terminal and waited for our friend’s plane to appear. Only a few minutes later it landed. The ten of us were together ready to embark on our safari!

I Love South Africa

2009-10-14T13:20:00.002-05:00

It seems I find myself liking each country I go to more and more, but maybe I just appreciate them for different reasons. Whatever the case, I am in love with South Africa.

Why?

1.The People

Everyone I met in South Africa was laid-back.

Our first night in Cape Town we went to Zula Mama Africa’s on Long Street. It was hip: live band, good location, popular balcony with views of arrests being made on the street below. David, a self-proclaimed nerd from Dartmouth, who I thoroughly enjoyed talking to, suggested that we sit down with some locals to get the vibe. We ended up having a long conversation with two women, life partners, one from London the other native to the Cape Coast. They chose to live together in SA because they are more tolerant of homosexuality. Interesting that a country that struggles so much with racial issues is more accepting of social issues that plague world powers around the globe. They owned a surf shop and offered us lessons for a discounted price.

Maddie, Taylor’s wonderful, enlightened, roommate from SCU, has been studying abroad through the CIEE service and learning program at Cape Town University. She and the eight other students in this unique program attend liberal arts classes at CTU (or when the teacher feels like visiting, in their living room) and also participate in local humanitarian projects. Maddie works in a township, helping with young children that have already been diagnosed with HIV/AIDS. She said that it was eerie how mature and knowledgeable the kids were about the widespread disease. One of the first things Taylor ever told me about her was, “Maddie wants to save the world.” And I believe that what she is doing now will have a beneficial multiplier effect for South Africa and in turn the world.

On Sunday we met several other Americans in South Africa. One of Maddie’s housemates had recently organized a movement in Cape Town that made international headlines in the New York Times! We met interns from all around the world that were working in non-profit organizations. For example, Charlie from Dublin who coaches rugby at a township school- aiming to give students organized extracurriculars because if he knows they’re doing that, he knows they’re not spreading HIV. Brett, from Michigan who’s dad was a Phi Delt at Miami ’70 (holla at my boys), was similarly coaching a basketball team. Tom, from Connecticut (Fairfield County, holla at B & Ted) had been mugged three times this week but was still having a great time in his semester off from USC helping in South Africa.

Then there was Steve, our ‘boogie bus’ driver. A boogie bus is much like the ‘trotro’ from Ghana in shape, size, and upkeep. However, Steve’s pride and joy was differentiated by its unique decorations including a disco ball and hanging lucky trinkets. Also, it was colorfully creatively painted. Maddie had his number in her cell phone and her housemates and she would call Steve whenever they wanted to travel in a group. Anyway! Steve loved his job and he really was proud of his bus which he had bought used sixteen years ago. He had such a jovial view on things; he was excited about the things we were doing; he was fatherly looking out for us; he was eager to give us advice and impart his local knowledge. Steve had gusto for life and his connection to his community and nation was obvious when he spoke about the area. Interestingly, Steve was what South Africans would call ‘colored’ – neither black nor white. The fact that he had this nationalism was a hopeful indicator that South Africa has taken great social strides since the end of the Apartheid.

2.The Land

Oh how beautiful it is! We woke up early to watch the ship come into harbor while the sun was rising over Table Mountain. Flying to Kruger I saw that plateau mountains were common everywhere in the country. Our visit in the first week of October corresponded with South Africa’s first week of spring. The green nation was spotted with bright colors of flowering trees. The wine lands were picturesque and even the barren terrain of Kruger could be appreciated because it was home to diverse wildlife.

3.The History

Kaffir Boy is an amazing book by Mark Mathabane. It is a narrative about a boy’s struggle and life in the townships during apartheid. The true story follows him from the darkness of misguided hatred, through education and sports, to the light of realization of social equality and opportunity. Read it.

Gandhi’s inspiration to begin his movement began in South Africa when Indians were facing social discrimination.

The apartheid just ended, South Africa’s history is so recent. I highly recommend looking into it- just Wikipedia. I’m not going to give a history lesson here.

4. The City

Long Street is so unique. An eclectic grouping of bars, boutiques, and diners. All of which have balconies. Many of my friends felt at home saying it felt like their stomping ground in San Diego.
The Muslim neighborhood/ township that was central in the city was rows of vibrantly painted houses that had stayed in the family for generations.

Like any city, there are the street dwellers that add extra character. While walking around, a drunk man stumbled in front of us, proclaimed that Maddie was from England, Taylor was from Africa, and I was from Australia. We kept walking, so did he. He walked right into a man waiting to cross the street. The man ignored him but the drunken fellow was enraged and picked up a rock and threw it at him. It missed. I noted how clean the city was because that was the first stray sizeable rock I had seen. Then we laughed at the random things that happen on city streets.

Waterfront, the area we ported in, harkened back to Michigan Avenue in Chicago or any main shopping area of a cosmopolitan city. It was so nice to shop without haggling or bartering.
Through our Cape Town connections a few of us got on a list for the trendy club, Chrome. I actually had to give my name, be checked, and then allowed in- how official! Inside house music raged and 1rand shots (13cents) were bought by the rounds.

The community of the townships add character to South Africa. On Sunday, the place to be was Muzzolis. It was packed which made it all the more interesting and fun. The basic principal of this Sunday day-drinking party was to celebrate the whole week by buying a bucket of meat. Then going across the street to the liquor store and buying a six pack of Savanah Dry, which is a cider beer similar to Strongbow. House music, a techno mix of reggae and hip hop, provided an irresistible dance beat.

5. So much to do!

I, Katie Jo Kohls, love to be active. I want to do things. I want to get up and go. I want to play. I want to experience. I want variety. South Africa offers a little bit of everything. In six days I tried to take in as much as I could.

For class credit, we ventured to the wine lands for a wine ‘tasting’ and learned about the production and marketing involved in small wineries. We focused our questions on things the vineyards (Nelson’s Creek and Backsberg) were doing to become more sustainable. Most importantly, we learned how to properly evaluate wine. I will now be able to keep up- somewhat- with Uncle Jim and Aunt Deb when they try to impress new wines upon Krista and me.

I went on a REAL safari!

I hiked and climbed a two hour strenuous path up Table Mountain, named for the cloud covering that shrouds it like a table cloth. The hike was fun, granted we were unprepared when we set out. There were nine of us, one person with water. On the way up those in jeans wished they had dressed for a serious cardio workout and limber movements. On top, in my tank top and shorts, I was laughed at by workers who were bundled in legitimate ski jackets.
Exploring, helping, surfing, shark cage diving, the tallest bungee jumping bridge in the world, relaxing countryside, facing raw danger on safari, the opportunities are boundless.

6. Opportunity to make a difference

What really attaches me to this country is the fact that I know I can help. South Africa is Almost There in terms of economic, health, and social issues. So much has been done already to improve the condition, which is why South Africa is a leader for the continent. I want to go back and help with education. From my traveling thus far, I have realized that education makes all the difference. If we educate people, we can give them the tools to make decisions that will benefit their country. No one knows their country more than the locals. I think this is one problem with giving foreign aid, making decisions for a country without a real grasp on their culture, history, aspirations, or core issues. I’ve never seen myself as a humanitarian, probably much to my mother’s dismay. But, here there’s a starting point. I know that young people with an untarnished optimism regarding nations of misfortune and global cooperation can catapult countries like South Africa towards complete stability. I believe individuals like the people I met while visiting, people like me and other students my age, can make more of a difference by understanding and working hands on than any impersonal organization.

Ghana oh Ghana, How You've Changed Me

2009-10-02T15:45:00.004-05:00

The disembarking of our voyage into Ghana was a historical moment for the nation. We were the largest group of Americans ever to come to their recently independent nation.

Ghanaians are obsessed with President Obama. There are billboards everywhere with his face next to their own President Mills. Obama recently visited Ghana and the hype is still prevalent. Besides the billboards, there are shirts, dresses, paintings, cloths, and even cookies with his face.

I gained a new perspective on clothing. Where do all of the surplus clothing donations go? They go here, to Ghana. They go to a vendor, a child, a businessman. I had a moment of self-realization when I saw a teenage boy walking towards me holding his little sister’s hand. He was wearing a light blue Lacoste polo. Albeit it was worn and torn and grimy. But here he was in rural Ghana wearing a shirt that was purchased for a meager price. He wore it out of necessity; he probably didn’t even pay heed to the color. But this is a shirt that I would personally shell out $90USD for and this boy did not give a care in the world to the fact that there was a small alligator stitched onto it. I want to try to remember this as I pick out new clothes. What do I really need?

A river stopped by the amount of garbage in it, failing construction, children wandering naked in the streets of a market, a emaciated man selling three fish on a string, a dog picking through discarded fish, public urination, the lack of decently lit or even roads, a roof made of palm leaves thousands of images that one would see in a movie or magazine fill my mind and the only file they can be stored in is Poverty. Having experienced the culture, the people, the traditions, I have a deeper understanding of their way of life. So although these images are those of poverty, I will forever carry with me the stories, the happiness and laughter, the pride, and the hope that this nation holds.

Ghana: Torgome Village Visit & Trekking

2009-10-02T15:35:00.000-05:00

My Torgome Village visit was fantastic. The Torgomes still have traditional leaders. A paramount chief and his elder sat apart from everyone else. The elder functioned as a spokesperson for no one was to speak to the chief directly. Throughout our visit we received African names. My name meant ‘Sunday Believe’ (The day I was born and a peaceful word). I cannot pronounce or spell it in the native tongue. But you can call me ‘Akos’ for short. Molly received the name ‘Friday God Knows’ ...how intimidating! We danced with the people, some of the kids thought I needed intense rhythm therapy and tried in vain to teach me their moves. Our visit was cut short by a sudden downpour.

This downpour caused roads to turn to clay thus instead of driving across the Shai Hills Game Reserve, we trekked. It took about an hour and a half to walk to the base of the plateau through a landscape that I could only describe as Lion King brought to life. We scaled the plateau and a local told us about the legends of the bat cave we stood in. It cleared up and we saw a few baboons on our walk back!

Ghana: Oxford Street and a Run-In with Ghanaian Authorities

2009-10-02T15:30:00.007-05:00

On our way home, we stopped on the side of the road and our guide showed us a cocoa plant and let us try a bean. And while our bus was stopped in traffic he let a boy selling chocolate bars come on the bus. Cocoa beans taste nothing like chocolate.

Our last night in Accra and the streets were flooded with American students. I thought it was ironic that we were in the area OSU and took a liking to Oxford Street. Oh how I missed Miami as we piled into a club that sold Absinthe for the same price as draft beer. Across the street was a seven story club, which will be hosting some MTV show the first week of October, was allowing us in free instead of the usual $30 USD cover charge. The top floor had a wrap around open glass balcony. This place was the only of it’s kind- posh, modern, expensive, tall- we could see the barely lit city with crumbling infrastructure for miles below us.

We took a taxi back. We were warned against this. Molly, Stephen, Brian, and I valiantly tried explaining the concept of a port to our confused driver. ‘Boats! Ships! Tema! Please!’ We sped (at least it felt like speeding, who knows? The speedometer was broken) down the unlit highway, only stopping when commanded to by the police sitting outside their roadside station. Seatbelts? There were none. The driver is a criminal? Not sure, he doesn’t speak English. What were they saying? We don’t know. We flashed our SAS ids; we said ‘boat, ship, Tema, please!’ Molly stuck her Green Sheet (n: piece of paper with lists of important phone numbers, addresses, times, and other information deemed by Dean Bob necessary to have with you at all times in case of emergency) out the window. Magically, after he examined it, he let us go. Thank you almighty Green Sheet for allowing us to escape being detained by Ghanaian authorities.

Ghana: Befriending Locals in a New Habitat

2009-10-02T15:30:00.006-05:00

“We have the know-how in the world to house everyone. We have the resources in the world to house everyone. All that’s missing is the will to do it.” -Millard Fuller, founder of Habitat for Humanity.

The third morning came early with the timely sunrise. Since Ghana is so close to the equator, the sun rises and falls year round at almost exactly six o’clock. At sunrise, I was on a bus headed to Kyebi, a town on the slopes of the Atewa Mountain Range. Our bus stopped three hours later on the side of a dirt road. Looking out my window I saw a green mountain shrouded in low clouds and there appeared to be nothing but thick jungle on the other side. We were lead through the density to a village opening. It was a picturesque reality of poverty. My team and I set to work, continuing the brick laying work that preceded us. These clay bricks had been molded in wooden frames and laid to dry. We made mortar, by combining concrete sand with water and mixing with a shovel. Alternating the brick pattern for fortitude, we worked quickly to spackle before our mortar dried. Our other job was to fill a ditch with dirt so that it could be walked over. But where’s the dirt? Spencer was handed a large pick and was shown the answer. Create the dirt. So he swung away at the land and I shoveled the dirt five feet to the left to fill the ditch. Manual labor in Ghana is hot, not attractive but blazing… literally. Randomly, our Ghanaian supervisor started a brush fire in the area directly between the house and me. Random fires I found through the many bus rides are actually quite frequent. There is much garbage, but who is going to come to this jungle village and come get it? So here and many other places they just light the garbage on fire- no big deal. Careful where you throw your trash.

We sat in the shade and ate lunch that the village people provided for us. Missy and I laughed at the nonchalant fashion that chickens, baby goats, and children ran around the area. We decided to pass on the chicken dish. After lunch a local boy stopped me asked to see some of the pictures I had on my camera. He laughed when he saw a picture of himself. I wondered if this was the first time he had seen one. He was delighted when I allowed him to play photographer. All of his friends came out and posed for him. He directed them and gave them props. It was fun to watch and even more fun to look through his artwork alongside him.

In the end we had only added a few layers of brick and done odd jobs, but it was a nice to think we contributed to someone’s home. Wow, how my definition of what a home can be has changed.

Ghana: Castles and Dungeons and Lovers, oh my!

2009-10-02T15:06:00.000-05:00

I was required for my Diaspora: History of Immigration class to go on the castles and dungeons trip. My thoughts were regrettably negative. I had to sell my ticket to go on a trip to waterfalls and Mona monkeys. My only threads of enthusiasm lie in the locations of the castles. Brianna’s friend, Amelie, suggested Cape Coast to be the best and most beautiful part of Ghana. But we have all been learning about the slave trade and slavery throughout our education. We have learned about the slave trade: its affects on ancient economies, the empirical conquests, the spreading of agriculture and religion. In social studies classes we have learned about slavery: the music, literature, and movements that have grown from their indentured cultures, the brave individuals that changed history, their significance in wars, and the cause and effect of their impact on American culture. I felt well versed in a well-rounded education of each aspect of slavery. Slavery lectures or monkeys and waterfalls? It was a long three-hour bus ride west to the dungeons.

Our tour was eye opening. What I did not realize was that the castles were the dungeons. We toured the infamous Cape Coast Castle built by the Swedes in 1653 and Elmina Castle built by the Portuguese in 1482. Each held the governors and military men of the western empires. The bottom level was the holding pen for the slaves. Our guide told us horrific stories of the conditions of the dungeons. He led us through the door of no return where Africans would take their last glimpse of their homeland as they boarded the ship that would take them somewhere in the new world. From the governor’s terrace we stared down at an open plaza. Here all female slaves were to stand on dismay for the governor to choose a bedmate. If they refused they were chained to the ground and kept under the hot sun with no food or water for all to see and learn to obey. We were taken into a room that had no sunlight and one hole of ventilation. Above it was a skull and crossbones. This is where certain slaves were taken and kept until they died a horrible death because they were given no provisions. We were told that sharks would follow the slave ships because they learned that fresh meat was always available when someone died, misbehaved, or was found pregnant due to the dungeon rapes. Ironically in the middle of one of the dungeon courtyards was a church. I found it unbelievable that a community lived within the moat protected castle walls and paid no heed to the humans kept like animals around them. Also, as Katie and I sat on a cannon and looked at the blue water, the tranquil waves, and the ease of the local fishermen coming and going in their handmade boats, it made me sad that such a beautiful place was scarred by it’s history.

The cape coast market place was the busiest market I have ever seen. A professor speculated that there were probably hundreds of thousands of people buy and selling and fishing and working in this area. This fishing village provides for much of Southern Ghana so people from all over come here to buy for their community. (This gave me a weird feeling as I remembered the fish being sold at that first market- how far did they travel unrefrigerated? How old were those fish? ) The area was striking. There was so much color: the fishing boats symbolically decorated with different patterns and colors, the flag waving marking different vending areas, and the fabrics worn by everyone there. I desperately wanted to get out and explore. Alas, as the bus continued, I was confined to my imagination wandering down the docks, beaches, talking to different locals, taking it all in.

Meena Gets Anotha Lova

Although tired and anticipating an early alarm the next morning, we went out. The phrases “C’mon we are only in ____ once” and “When will we ever get the chance to do ____ in ______ again?” are always in the back of my mind urging me to take advantage of every opportunity and I never regret it. At the Venus Café a hoard of SAS students gathered and intermingled with locals. Meena and I sat at a table that looked like a lacquered tree stump and chatted about our day’s experiences. We were approached by two (of course, friendly) Ghanaians. One noticed my new bracelet and told Meena she should have one. Great, more vendors. He put one of his bracelets on Meena, she refused, but he told her it was a gift. This is Meena’s second gift from a foreign boy. We chatted with them about our plans to head down to the beach for reggae night. We allowed them to buy us Stars. When they became too friendly we made up a story and left. They followed us! We assured them we’d see them at the beach but headed back to the ship. Two free stars and a bracelet for Meena. Success.

Ghana: It's A Small World After All

2009-10-02T14:59:00.000-05:00

        We all stood ceremoniously on the decks and watched the ship come into our Ghanaian dock. The first image I had of Ghana was a symbolic image of the culture of the country that I would soon come to understand better. We were porting in Tema, the city closest to the point zero degrees longitude and zero degrees latitude. Tema is an industrial town, its port is mainly used to import infrastructure. Casablanca was also an industrial port- however it was much more organized. From our high view we could see the chaotic activity happening within the port. Everyone on the strip below us waved enthusiastically. Well, everyone besides the unusual amount of guards all carrying automatic rifles. The friendliness of the locals would soon be a staple memory of everyone’s Ghanaian experience.

      I had nothing planned for our first day in Ghana, no plans always means there is adventure to come. A group of San Diego guys and I ventured into Accra to meet up with Charlie's friend who was studying abroad at the University of Legon. We met her outside of Frankie’s a restaurant where we ate something that we called an African Burrito and had the local brew, Star. As we walked away, vendors shouted my name. I had introduced myself to one vendor and now it seemed the whole community knew that the girl in the neon shirt was Kate and she had already bought a bracelet.

        The six of us crammed into a ‘trotro, a van outfitted to hold maybe twelve people that often carried up to twenty five. How this works: the ‘mate’ hangs his head out the window when coming up to a stop and repeatedly calls out the trotro’s destination. You negotiate a price (usually 30 pents for a 10min drive- this is about 20 cents USD). Then you cram yourself wherever you can and hope you can figure out when to get off. This alone is probably a reason that SAS warned us not to use this form of transportation, if we had not been with someone that was used to this, there is no way we would have gotten on the right trotro, gotten a decent price, or been able to understand the mate calling off destinations. On one of these trotro rides out of the city, I played the ‘do you know..’ game with Kaylie who goes to Santa Clara. Lo and behold, she is one of Emily’s housemates next semester! It is a small world after all.

        We went to a market that was a distance away from the city. The market was busy at 1500 when most locals were going about buying their dinner. Outside the market square there was a dance off to some American music. Once inside it was as if I had stepped into a national geographic documentary. There were storefronts everywhere in no apparent pattern. Kaylie told me that these storefronts were also their homes. That the bench the woman sat on and sold crabs was also her bed. There was a stench of the sea creatures being sold: every sort of fish, dried eel, live crabs, large snails, and pretty much anything from the sea that one could ascertain was also being sold. This was the case for many of the businesses and vendors; there was no limitation of the definition of a good. Some clothing stores sold new African cloth; some sold Salvation Army underwear and shirts. Some children sold beads; others were calling off prices for their rat hanging from a string. We bought pineapple for one cedi (about 80cents) this pineapple was by no exaggeration the most scrumptious piece of fruit I have ever tasted. It seemingly melted in my mouth and emitted sweet flavors, no hint of sourness.

We split up at one point and had the hardest time reconvening. We powered through the market looking for our lost friends. The locals called us ‘brouneys’ (white people). We looked pretty ridiculous walking around in circles trying to find our way out. I was struck by the reaction of the children to our presence. One boy cried and his mother explained he had never seen our kind. Other kids came up and touched us or wanted a hug. As we traveled around the country we were often looked at in awe. In the United States, we know of different cultures and people because of media, school, and books. This is not the case in Ghana.

We safely made it back to Accra. Here I met up with another group of SAS students, we went exploring for a place to eat. The group stopped in front of a fast-food type location selling pizza and burgers. I was in the mood for some local food, three of us went exploring. Andy had befriended a local vendor, Albert. We asked him to lead the way to a chop bar. We followed him without question down unlit roads and past huts. Once again, I found myself in a part of town where I would normally lock my windows. Albert took us to a chop bar where Anthony Bourdain ate on his travel channel show, how exciting! Except, to our dismay it was very Westernized and expensive. We decided upon a Chinese restaurant (there were several of these in the area for some reason). Albert joined us for dinner. Through our conversation I learned a lot about his generation in this country. Albert worked selling bracelets on the street in Accra. However, he lived about four hours away. He had graduated high school and loved American rap music. We asked him if he would come to America to study. He said he would love to study at Lincoln University because it is home to W.E.B. Dubois, an American civil rights activist who eventually was naturalized as a Ghanaian citizen in the 1960s. I was impressed.

Andy and Albert

Ghana: Disclaimer

2009-10-02T14:44:00.001-05:00

It is hard for me to sit down and write a thoughtful, detailed, insightful excerpt about Ghana. I spent a cumulative of nearly twenty-four hours on bus rides. I am gung-ho about not bringing an iPod off the ship, rather I am partial to the thought that every moment should be taken in with all five senses in order to fully understand a culture. I did bring my journal on the bus, but after the second day I realized that there was not a single road in Ghana that was a smooth ride (i.e. potholes were tended to by throwing stones in them)- any attempt at writing was useless. Therefore these hours were spent inside my own thoughts. Bus rides are a great way to observe a country. A snapshot of a hoard of boys playing soccer in a dirt field is enough to spiral me into thought for a half hour. The panoramic scene of a fish market with hundreds of people selling, thousands buying, and a cluster of men heading back out into the ocean for another net full is a movie that I can replay in my mind for a four hour bus ride home. Thus, my thoughts have been born, processed, analyzed, reprocessed, and written eloquently into a mental blog in my head. Doing things twice bores me. Anyone that knows me knows that I cannot for the life of me tell a story twice. If my bus rides hadn’t been so long and if Ghana wasn’t so interesting, I would’ve written already and these blog pages would be brimming with original thoughts and ideas. The following is my attempt to do the wonderful country of Ghana and her amazing people and raw culture justice.

The 5 Steps

2009-09-21T18:58:00.000-05:00

The evening of September 18^th.

Taylor and Meena’s Room.

2000: we are listening to music on my computer and making signs for George before heading up to the talent show.

2015: we are no longer listening to music. I ask Stephen (my friendly neighbor by association) to turn it back on.

2015.5: Stephen cannot turn it back on, the screen is blank.

2016: I restart my computer only to be greeted by a black screen with a blinking image of a file with a question mark.

2018: we turn off the computer after much discussion and head to the talent show.

2345: I am back in my room with my computer; I turn it on to see if it magically works. It does not. No big deal, I’ll figure it out tomorrow. Denial.

The morning of September 19^th.

The IT desk in the computer lab.

1000: “Excuse me; there is a problem with my computer. It flashes signs when I open it and it does nothing else besides that and turn off.” I draw out a cancel sign like the ones you see over Ps on no parking signs. I show him the flashing folder.

1004: The head of IT tells me, “This is not good. This is not good at all.” Oh, really?

1005: Andrew, my friend that works in IT, in told to Google all sorts of codes and key demands.

1010: Head IT tries a bunch of keys. To no avail. I am growing concerned for my computer. I stare at him as he continues to punch in different codes, stretching his fingers in strange ways across the keyboard.

1014: Head IT asks if I brought my Mac start up kit or if I happened to program my external hard drive with a reboot application. No, I did not. I learned how to use my external a few days before I left the country… I learned how to plug it in and to drag pictures over to it. This is ridiculous, why don’t they tell you to do things like that! Anger.

1020: Head IT tells me to go get my charger. I run through the halls to go get life support for my computer.

1023: Head IT tries to force feed my computer a cd-rom. My computer is not responding.

1035: I begin pacing the area around the computers. I talk to everyone I know about anything other than technology. Someone asks me how my two presentations for the following day are coming along... I bolt back to my computer. Head IT is now helping someone else.

1050: “What’s the update doc?” Head IT tells me he’s letting my computer rest before he tries a new strategy. I head back to the lounge to read and research things for my presentations. I pick up my things and begin ferociously underlining, analyzing, noting my articles on Vodafone’s marketing strategy in Ghana. Maybe if I work really hard on my presentations without technology, the computer gods will allow my computer’s life to be spared and I will just have to work hard and pretend like I don’t even need my computer. Bargaining.

1105: I pull a chair up next to the operating table. I doodle intently on the “Sign Up Here to be Helped” paper. I doodle large swiggles and swirls all over the upcoming days. Swiggle. Check. Swirl. Check. Heart. Check. Swiggle. Stare.

1114: Friends come over to see how things are going at the computer hospital. I have no good news yet.

1115: Head IT listens to my computer’s internal workings. “The hard drive is still spinning” This is good news.

1116: The question mark is flashing again...

1125: I think of all the memories I have stored on my computer, all the good times captured in pictures, all the thoughts poured into documents, all the music that set the tempo, the tone, the mood of all my college days…Depression.

1127: I am still lost in my depressing thoughts when Head IT hits my computer.

1127.2: He hits it again!

1127.5: He slowly puts his ear to the keypad.

1127.8: Head IT looks up at me and sees my look of sheer horror.

1128: He hits it again! My computer flashes the Mac startup image of the stars streaming through the purple and black universe. My computer sees the light.

1128.2: He listens again and looks up at me.

1129: after a long moment, he says in almost a whisper, “it’s gone.”

1130: He flips my computer over and beckons me to come and put my ear down and listen to the failing hard drive. I hear it spinning, clicking, and stopping.

All of the first four stages overcome me at once. That’s not true! You didn’t do everything! I will trade something for the secret of computer resuscitation. Ohhh nooooo…

1132: I thank the doctor for all he has done. I unplug the life support and the dim light of the power flash stops. I take my computer down to my room and lay it on my bed. It is hard to believe that it is now just a piece of plastic.

My morning continues with a series of events that I almost expected. I walked around the ship with a cloud over my head. My laundry still hasn’t come- it has been three days. I try to call home for the first time, no one answers and two minutes from my expensive 13minute ocean phone card are gone. Unfailingly kind Taylor suggests we order a cookie basket. Orders must be placed a full day in advance. More Depression.

This whole situation becomes laughable as I reenact the scene. I call home again and I am so happy to be able to relay the situation with a smile because I am connected to home! A group of us treat ourselves to dinner on the pool deck. We watch the sun setting over the Atlantic. The humidity of the African summer is almost unbearable, we love it. There is ice cream for dessert in the dining rooms, a fantastic surprise.

2245: Taylor, Nick and I go up to starboard deck 7 bow to look at the stars. It is a beautiful clear night. The astronomy professor and his wife are out. He points out the constellation Sagittarius on his map which is secured around his neck and rests on his belly. Because of the new moon stage (by the way this also represent the end of Ramadan, go crazy morocco) of the date, our proximity to the equator, and the clearness of the sky he says tonight’s the perfect night to see this constellation. He uses his laser to point it out in the sky. He says, “That’s the center of our universe.” Whoa. We take it in, straining our necks looking at the Milky Way arching over the boat like a rainbow in the night.

2315: On the port side, we hang our arms over the railing and watch a thunderstorm release its booming color over the African horizon. We cannot hear anything but we are far enough away that we can see multiple flashes over the distance of the storm.

Life is amazing. Acceptance.

Morocco: 'Exploring the Market', 'Meena Gets a Boyfriend', and 'Another Precarious Situation'

2009-09-18T12:44:00.001-05:00

We spent the entire next day wandering through the biggest market in Morocco. Davy, a sas student who leads our morning meditations and preaches 'one love!' from behind is lengthy dreads, skateboarded around us as we made our way to the main square. The locals that this was a strange sight. The market was insanity at it’s finest. The moment we got there Katie got a snake thrown on her, then was hassled for money for touching the snake. I was cursed for getting video of a snake charmer. Farther into the streets of the market, a donkey ran into Meena. I perfected my bartering skills and ended up being able to get most things for 20% of the original price.

A few minutes before we left our riad home, there was a knock on the door. Our landlord said that she came as an interpreter for Mohamed, a local boy. He had fallen in love with the girl in the red shirt earlier in the day. It was Meena! We all had seen him hanging around us on the streets. I guess he had pestered our landlord, Dominique so many times that she believed he was actually in love and agreed to come over and translate. He bought her a pair of sunglasses; he wanted her to join his family for dinner. Meena appreciative of the fact that she now had a 15-year-old Moroccan boyfriend, still had to let him down. She kissed him on the cheek, but he tried to go for more! As we walked out, Mohamed had lined up his friends and they all chatted loudly as we walked past and waved a final goodbye to ‘Read Real.’

Three girls and myself took the late train ride back to Casablanca. No worries, it was serene as a fellow backpacker playing the acoustic guitar serenaded us.

Once we arrived, Meena and I thought we would avoid the pestering taxis by walking a block away and hailing a taxi from there. This attempt to be frugal ended up with us trekking through a ghetto at 2300. Imagine: I am wearing a pink shirt and a pink polo hat with a big backpack and Meena looks equally ridiculous. Please picture us walking down the middle of a street in the bad area of downtown anywhere, we stuck out like a florescent light in a dark hallway! We were thankful when a taxi answered our prayers and took us away from the hoards of shady men that lined the streets eyeing us down

Final Reflections: What I love about Morocco is how everything from the home designs to the markets is designed to allow everyone to be very social. My misconception that women here are discriminated against was burned to the ground. I learned that women choose to wear their traditional attire. I loved my independent experiences and feel like this trip was more of a cultural experience whereas Spain was more of an informative historical tour.

Morocco: Riad Real

2009-09-18T12:28:00.000-05:00

Our taxi ride into the heart of Marrakech was a sure foreshadowing of the craziness to come. Moroccans have two-way lined streets. NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE LINES! It is a fast and careful game getting from one place to another. The only rule they abide by is stopping at lights; everything else is a free for all. We took two taxis, both blared Moroccan house music, holding dance-offs between taxis at stop lights, they raced each other weaving in and out of traffic, and we streamed by colorful buildings, souks, and dozens of busy people.

The taxi took us to Dar del Baccho. Following some friendly locals: We walked through the souks, turned under the red brick archway between the leather store and the American snack stand, down the alley past the eclectic collection of doors embedded into the stone wall, turned at the hole-in-the-wall mosque where a legless beggar sat outside and guarded the assortment of worn shoes that had been taken off for prayer. At the end of this alley we read the graffiti ‘REAL’ for real Madrid, the locals favorite futbol team. We affectionately called our home Riad Real (Ree- ahd Ree-ale). Here we found a wooden door with a hand-knocker. Considering the fact that we were essentially in an alley our expectations we low. At the time we ducked through the door our expectations were blown away. We walked into a three-story riad that opened up to the sky. We immediately celebrated on our rooftop terrace that looked out over all of the rooftops with the Atlas Mountains in the background.

Riad Real had a real name, Dar Badra, and was managed by friendly Dominique. I would suggest to anyone to stay here. There were eleven of us, eight stayed in the three story, five bedroom, three bath, retractable roofed villa. The other three of us stayed in a similar smaller apartment directly across the street (one step would take you door-to-door). In the morning, traditional Moroccan breakfast was prepared by Fatima, the housekeeper. I loved the crep’e like food: a thin airy pancake that we spread jam and honey on, and rolled like a crepe and ate with our hands. It was interesting how resistant Dominique and Fatima were to tips after they were perfectly hospitable. It cost me less than 20 USD for one night.

That night when we left the riad there were dozens of children in the street. We danced, sang, played futbol, and celebrated who knows what with them. As we made our way out to the street we ran into a friendly American from Boston. Joy came to Morocco in her twenties, fell in love with someone as well as the country and bought a place similar to ours. She let us tour it. I love the open ceilings of the Moroccan homes. It was surreal staring up at the bright stars through this retired hippie’s hideout. She was graceful and helped us bargain for a cheap taxi fare. Add a riad in Marrakech, Morocco to my list of future real estate locations.

Morocco: A random man predicts my future.

2009-09-18T12:20:00.004-05:00

Our third day in Morocco, a large group of us departed for Marrakech by train. It was a three-hour ride across the Saharan desert. We rode second-class this time. This meant we rode in unairconditioned car that had separate cabins that I can only describe as similar to the Hogwarts Express. I wandered into Rachel and Katherine’s cabin and saw them playing with a three month old baby. The mother was very kind to let us all play with her baby ‘shaleem’.

There was also an older man in the cabin. Without prompt, he began to tell my future or rather ‘read’ me. Through his broken English, the woman’s knowledge of four languages, and my patience I received his interpretation of me. He began by saying that I would have two babies within five years. After five years, I would be very prosperous and have my own home. He also read that I was very kind. He said that generations ago my ancestors visited his ancestors in his home village. He said that my ancestors were good people and helped their village; this was uncommon for people of my race. He said that I would travel just like my ancestors. He said that I had parents that had changed their lives so that I would be a good person. He said that if I didn’t have the parents I have that I wouldn’t be who I am, a person ‘who runs deep.’ He said that I will see many things in my life and will change people in different parts of the world. I will do this because I am motivated to make my parents proud because they are good people.
This was an incredibly random but incredible experience. I don’t know if I will have two kids by the time I am twenty-five. I cannot say how much traveling or service I will be able to do. But, I do know that my parents are my role models and have been amazing guides in determination and grace. Right on, Moulhad the innkeeper from Essaouria!

Morocco: Avacado juice?

2009-09-18T12:18:00.000-05:00

That night I made it back for my Moroccan family dinner with not fifteen minutes to spare.

Thanksgiving, birthdays, Christmas Eve, Mother’s Day, whatever holiday it is- to me the meals that surround it are of pivotal importance to its success. Our traditional Moroccan meal was nothing short of a deluxe holiday meal.

Our host family’s house compared to the mosques I had toured in Spain. The obvious Moorish detailed engravings and the lavishness of detail was a visual comparison to the tastes to follow.

Once the sunset and the nearest mosque broadcasted the call to prayer we gathered around the table, pausing for only a moment to admire the feast set before us. Fine china was encompassed by a variety of food.

The food set before us included chick pea soup, small pizzas, pastry sweets dipped in honey, and warm thin bread. Everyone in the family ate the bread simultaneously with the soup- so we followed suit. We filled up on that and then drank mint tea. The mint tea (Morocco’s national drink) was served in the traditional manner, allowing a sufficient amount of oxygen in during the mixing process.

We taught the family how to play American card games like Spoons and Egyptian Ratscrew. It was hilarious!

I loved how every room in their house was set up for relaxing and enjoying company. Couches lined the room that the dining table was in. Our family told us that we should take time for conversation whenever possible. There was plenty of time between courses for conversation and activity. Cousins of the family visited. Dad would have loved how the family flowed through the house, relaxed, enjoying each other, and taking time to socialize.

A third course was served: chicken and beef kabobs in many spices. Along with this course, avocado juice was offered. Blending avocadoes, milk, and sugar made the avocado juice. The juice was surprisingly tasty and reminded me of a milk shake.

The dinner was the best cultural experience I have had yet. They had two sons and a daughter about our age. Ali, our cute translator, is heading to Barcelona for college soon. His family thinks Semester at Sea is in his future. He knows four languages fluently- I am beginning to think that our American education can take a few steps out of the lime light.

Morocco: Bonjour Rabat!

2009-09-18T12:17:00.001-05:00

On the morning of September 11, a group of people took the hour and a half train ride to Rabat, the capital city. The contrast between the two cities was audible. Rabat was much calmer, there was a much more organized flow of people. We were warned and were testament to the fact that the military men that were scattered throughout the city would not allow photos or video. I managed to sneak some in despite the occasional protest or scolding.

How could I not try to document the scene? The three of us were eating pastries on the beach of the Atlantic Ocean. The booming call to afternoon prayer and the response of pedestrian traffic towards the Kasbah that sat atop the hill behind us. The space between the Kasbah and us was a cluttered array of tombstones. There was a fisherman on the ocean break before us. The bright red Moroccan flag waved in contrast against a white government building that jutted out into the water beside us. To the other side, as far as we could see there were mismatched housing projects lining up facing the beach. A busy highway separated us and the tranquility of the beach from the chaotic hustle of the city on the other side. So here we sat, while a whole country fasted for Ramadan, eating our delicious pastries and talking about the reoccurring theme of how big the world was with an ocean behind us and a country before us.

We spent a sweaty grueling two hours searching for the King’s main palace. We were laughed at several times as we asked in French for the palace. ‘pah-lah’ means palace, ‘pah-ley’ means can you say. Within these two hours we saw many other beautiful government buildings, not that we knew what they were since they were marked in Arabic. We walked into what we thought was the palace, but it was actually a university. That should say something about the magnitude and beauty of their school- step it up Miami. Here I was scolded again for trying to take a photo of two professors debating in a gateway between the city and the university. I got the photo through a technique I learned in the medina: open the shutter, place the camera at your hip, and tilt it up, snap.

Finally. (And I mean FINALLY, I cannot relate to you the discomfort of 90 degrees, rolling hills, and an attempt to adapt to the culture by wearing jeans and a conservative top) So finally, we found the palace. The guards made us relinquish our passports before we went in. This made us uneasy, especially when we ran into some French tourists that said they didn’t have to dole out their precious identification. I would say the palace was average. It was massive- but not the most impressive building I have seen. The trek there was what made finding it so worth it. I have navigated my way solo through Chicago, I have gotten lost on a school trip in Italy, I have found addresses in downtown Milwaukee, and I have directed taxi drivers that didn’t speak English. But, never have I roamed with two other girls in an African country’s capital city that speaks French and Arabic and successfully found a palace tucked away behind walls at the edge of the city and made it back to the hidden train station in time for departure.

Morocco: flirting with danger

2009-09-18T11:33:00.001-05:00

Again, I was lucky to be in the group that was first allowed off the ship. We took a tour of the Mosque of Hassan II. It is the only mosque in Morocco that allows tours, and even then there are only three hours of the day you can take a tour. This billion-dollar Mosque was built in the early 90’s. It only took 6 years to build this elaborate place of worship, but there were 10,000 workers who literally worked 24-7. This massive mosque is located right on the water and can accommodate 100,000 worshippers. It even has a retractable roof. There are windows in the floor looking down into the basement bath area. There are dozens and dozens of fountain-like baths in the basement. Our guide explained the methodic way that Muslims cleanse themselves before they pray.

One of the oddest sights we saw on our panoramic (basically a narrated bus ride) tour of Casablanca was a middle-aged man angrily throwing bricks at a crumbling infrastructure. We weren’t sure if it was a normal thing to see or if we should be startled and stay away from the windows of our bus.

The whole morning was filled with unusual events that gave me mixed feelings towards Casablanca. For example, while we were walking through some narrow streets on our way to one of the King’s six palaces I noticed two men dressed all in untraditional black garb. When we stopped, they stopped. When we crossed a road, one would cross and the other would stay stationary but they would both start communicating on their walkie-talkies. Turns out, they were just police officers watching out for us. I am not sure if that made me feel better or not..

I met some people on our tour that were interested on exploring the city on their own. So we ventured out in the dreary raining weather to the old medina. A medina is an old fortified city within the city. The weather added to the excitement of exploring the medina. The vendors were very pushy, following us around offering different things to us. They would shout out in English to get our attention: ‘California!’ ‘ Your Welcome!’ or ‘Heyy America!’

A small group of us continued to explore despite the increase in wind and rain. Observing the medina was incredible. A boy with leprosy passed us, there were whole horses skinned and hanging in store windows, there were all ages of people cooking, selling, and buying. We winded through the streets and eventually ended up in a precarious situation. One of us literally ran into an official with a rifle. At that point, we realized we had come into the wrong alley of the medina. There was an impenetrable produce section to one side, a dark alley to the other side, a brick wall in front of us with a cluster of armed officials and two Moroccan gangs standing around us. We walked down the dark alley of course and I watched some men gamble and a drug deal go down.

That night, I donned my rain jacket and headed out with a group for some authentic Moroccan nightlife. This did not include any raves or clubs. First of all, crossing the streets in Casablanca is a game of life and death. Secondly, shishah (hookah) bars are plentiful and are ten times more potent than the sketchy places in downtown Milwaukee. In these bars they did not serve alcohol nor did they watch football- we watched a bull fight. Thirdly, upon looking for some late night munchies we found two places: a café with only Moroccan men only drinking coffee outside and McDonalds. We ate at McDonalds, where they served the McArabia, shrimp sandwiches, and steak fries.

Preport: Code Red & Fasting

2009-09-18T10:35:00.000-05:00

Preport- n. (etymology: sas)- meeting the night before the MV Explorer docks in a new country. Two types: logistical and cultural. Reason for meetings: to brief voyagers on safety and cultural awareness. A. Gosh that preport was scary, I feel like I can’t leave the ship without being mugged or raped. B. The interport lecturer was really funny; do Moroccans really stereotype us that way?

At the Moroccan preport we were told that our security level was red, the highest. We were told not to do anything with our left hand unless you want to deeply insult someone and their family, their ancestors, their dog. We were told to dress as if we were going to a Muslim mosque: nothing above the ankles or the wrists showing, nothing below the collarbone, cover your hair if you can, etc. We were told to travel in large groups and always have a male.

The stories, the personal experiences, the lists of emergency contacts scared us all into precisely following the rules. Please gather these details and form a laughable image in your mind: groups (no smaller than twenty), clad ultra conservative clothing (some girls even taking to wrapping traditional scarves around their head), walking tightly together (to protect and watch out for each other), in 80 degree humid weather, walking through the tight and busy streets of the medinas. I cannot imagine anyway that we could have stood out more.

Upon reading World Party: a rough guide to the globes best festivals, I realized that most cultural celebrations happened in the spring. The only notable festival we would run into on our voyage was Ramadan in Morocco. In my classes, I was intrigued but disappointed to learn that Ramadan is in fact a holy month dedicated to a cleansing of the spiritual body of Muslims. This includes fasting from sunrise to sunset. Festival? I’m hoping for nonstop activity in the streets, intoxicated friendliness towards tourists, and participating in deep and meticulous traditions. Nope. Morocco lagged in the hot sun as they nobly forwent food, drink, sex, smoking, and other things of the sort. Respectfully, we tried our best to keep those practices out of the public eye until sundown. This was easy to do considering most restaurants were closed and the water wasn’t potable.

Olé España

2009-09-16T18:43:00.006-05:00

Our arrival into Cadiz, Spain was a memorable experience. Not only because it was our first sight of land in over a week, but also because a group of us took full advantage of the activities surrounding our docking. We woke up early for yoga and meditation. During meditation we focused on how small we were in the realm of this world. This is a pretty easy thing to imagine after sailing across the Atlantic for eight days. After breakfast, which is easily the best meal offered on the ship, we gathered on the front of the ship to watch the boat dock and the sunrise over the port of Cadiz. A truly gorgeous sight: the bright colors of the sun against the dark colors of the water with the white buildings in the skyline were a beautiful combination.

I was lucky to be in a group that was allowed first off the ship. We departed for the rock of Gibraltar. I signed up for this trip because ‘rock of Gibraltar’ is a place that I have learned about since lower school: the closest distance between Europe and Africa. I imagined a big rock that we would hike up and then ooh and ahh at the sight of Tangier, Morocco. I wore hiking shoes and athletic gear. The trip was nothing that I expected.
1) it was a mighty long drive about three hours through rural Spain. I felt like we were in the desert (this would become a familiar feeling as I traveled around southern Spain). One on stretch we would see the proof of progress towards sustainability. In the middle of nowhere there were hundreds of windmills and solar panels. Little towns would pop up, complete with high schools, colleges, and discothèques. On the next stretch there would be an assortment of cows and goats wandering, unfenced along the road. Farther down, two men each were carrying a shotgun presumably hunting within 50km of our bus. A sight of roman ruins, an aqueduct, standing unattended in a stream, followed this. 2) Gibraltar is a part of the UK, therefore we had to use our passports and of course eat fish n chips for lunch 3) Rock Apes are native to Gibraltar, monkeys? Who knew!

Gibraltar was my first time to really put my new camera to travel photography use, how exciting. Brad, my quiet, trying-to-find-his-way, sarcastic friend, ‘reluctantly’ posed for my photos. Brad also became used to my curiosity on our long bus ride. I would ask questions like ‘what’s that?’ ‘Why is this here?’ ‘How do you think that works?’ He would reply the best he could but eventually just relied on ‘*sigh * I don’t know Kate’ probably just to quiet me.

That night Molly Megan and I went to flamenco night and an amateur bull fight.

Later we went to a local tapas bar. Thirty-five drunken men and a wait staff that spoke no English greeted us. Confident in my Spanish skills, I ordered us drinks and ice cream. We got three of each drink I ordered, ‘the house special’ which was multiple tapas, and a little bit of ice cream. I asked the men what they are celebrating: a bachelor party! Using my finest Spanish skills we joined our fiestas together. Eventually the three of us found ourselves new members of the fiesta soltero. Want to experience a city’s culture? Go out on the town with locals for a bachelor party!

I went on a guided tour of Seville, Cordoba, and Granada. I was so happy to find out that my Santa Clara walkie-talkie crew was also going on this expedition.

In Seville we saw la plaza de Espana, la alcazar, el cathedral, and el barrio Santos.
The detail, inspired by the Moors and Arab influence, was incredible. Imagine a palace, hundreds of rooms, each room is intricately decorated: walls painted with bright colors and stuccod with eggs whites and molding, floors arithmetically tiled and interrupted with fountains in every other room, and ceilings- dios mio! The ceilings! Wood carvings or stucco with light pouring into the room through beautiful windows.

Nick, my funny, caring, observant friend, laughs when he realizes that I feel the need to touch EVERYTHING. Who wouldn’t want to? It’s hard to believe that someone took the time to carve each detail. I touch everything in the streets, the stores, and the gardens too. This gets me in trouble, especially in the garden when I grab a thorn vine and in the streets when I wander off. Nick watches out for me though- he heard from Brad that I almost got dock time in Gibraltar for being late to the bus.

Kalatrava ( not sure if that is spelled correctly but I am meaning to say the designer of the Milwaukee art museum) is from Seville. When we climbed the thirty-five flights to the top of el cathedral, it was easy to spot his designs, large, white bridges that look like they could fly away. The view from the top was breath taking. It reminded me of the view of Florence from el duomo. The walk to the top was worth every hot and chafing step. El Cathedral is the final resting spot of Christopher Columbus.
The city of Seville was much cleaner and modern than Cadiz.

The streets in Spain are crazy. Wandering the streets is my favorite thing to do. We walked down a winding alley, pressed ourselves up against a wall, and heard our guide tells us that we are infect on a two way street. As we walked through the ‘streets’ we felt like we left the main area far behind, only to come upon a huge open square with historical monuments encircling us, breaking the skyline.

We ate at an amazing restaurant located off of one of these winding streets. The tapas were traditional Spanish cuisine: jamon (their most popular dish), garlic potatoes, mushrooms, papas fritas, chorizo, and limitless wine.

Bus rides are exciting, but the scenery is monotonous. We all spend the first half hour sleeping or staring out the window. When those daydreaming realize that the landscape is as follows: cactuses, windmills, a deserted building, a coca cola billboard, cactuses, windmills.. They begin to chat; this wakes those that are sleeping. We have no problem entertaining ourselves. George, the most abrupt, in-your-face, takes-it-a-little-too-far, intelligent guy, reads excerpts from “I hope they serve beer in hell” by Tucker Max. Harlan, a sensitive little man and an aspiring actor from down south, reads us his impromptu poetry- we snap for him. We play “hotseat”: 5 min, rapid-fire questions, and honest answers. There is never a dull conversation. Everyone is eager to talk. I don’t think the excitement of our travels or the enthusiasm of the people we are traveling with will have ware away.

Seville is advertised as one of the most hopping places in Andalusia for nightlife. So why oh why did we spend the night in Cordoba?

We stayed in the Tryp hotel: Los Gallos. The name reminded me of Vince’s build-a-bear. Taylor, my enthusiastic, kind, ambitious, amazingg friend, and I ended up being roommates. The hotel was located a short walk from the main square, yet we had to walk up and down the streets looking for an open and lively place. Granted, it was a Monday night. But this is Spain- nightlife is supposed to be hoppin’ until 6am. We found a nightclub and took it over- it was only semester at sea kids in it. They were charging really high prices so Taylor and I scouted out other locations. We found an Irish pub down the street and relocated there. Eventually, many others followed suit. I loved sitting at a table on the sidewalk watching the city life continue from the sidelines. Nick ended up talking to an international businessman (IBM) for a while- they exchanged business cards and Nick was offered a job- international networking at its finest, eh?

Our guide the next day only talked about gypsies. Refer to my gypsy journal in the post below this.

We toured the Mesquita- this was awe-inspiring. The red and white striped arches piled up in our line of sight as we walked through the mosque-turned-cathedral. In one of the rooms there was a ton of gold on display. I heard a guide (not ours, we had already ditched that crazy lady) explain that the cathedrals would parade their valuables around the town as a form of competition- the more wealth the better the church. It is interesting that money and wealth have been so intricately combined with the success of a religion for so long.

A group of us walked across an ancient Roman bridge for a panoramic view of the city. We then walked through the winding streets back towards the main square. Taylor, Nick and I went to a tapas restaurant for lunch. I had broken eggs with potatoes and chorizo- translation: scrambled eggs, French fries, and spicy sausage in a skillet. It tasted like it sounded a lot of oil over a random combination of food. Taylor and I were determined to get some fine European clothing- we ventured out in downtown Cordoba in search of fashion. While shopping I ran into a glass wall- we, along with the locals, got a great laugh out of that. All we came back with was ice cream. At least it was delicious Kinder flavored ice cream.

As we drove to Granada I felt bad for Rogo and Smiley who are studying abroad there this semester. It felt like even more desert upon desert. ALAS! As we drove into the city I was taken aback. This city was beautiful and much unlike the others we had visited in southern Spain. It was built at the base of the Sierra Mountains, so all of the buildings looked stacked upon each other. It was such a bustling city- my empathy for rogo had turned to jealousy- what a cool place to stay for a few months! Our hotel was directly across from the massive Alhambra. After our exhaustingly hot journey around Cordoba we were ecstatic to find that we had a pool at our new hotel. We played in it for hours.

We enjoyed some fine Spanish wine then ventured into the city by taxi. I enjoyed speaking Spanish with the taxi driver and the other locals we met at ‘Club Amsterdam’. Club Amsterdam was more of a sports bar than anything- except we watched bullfights and futbol rather than baseball and college football.

Our tour of the Alhambra was phenomenal. We spent about two hours touring- the Alhambra is essentially a city built for King Fernindad the fifth. Over the centuries it was used for all different purposes, therefore it was built upon and expanded for different reasons. It was interesting to see the harems and the different additions made throughout the years. Finally, we got an explanation as to why there are so many fountains in all of the Moorish influenced buildings. The ancestors of the moors came from the desert so water was scarce therefore it was a sign of prestige to have water and fountains. Also, Muslims cleanse themselves before prayer and they pray five times a day according to their five pillars- so it is nice to have the water readily available.

On our ride back to the ship we stopped at the most peculiar rest stop. There was deli, a candy store, a pottery shop, and a mechanical bullfighting ring. What an odd combination. We drove four hours back to Cadiz and we ended up being about an hour late for ‘dock time.’ Taylor and I were officially the last two people on the ship before we set off. It was incredibly windy as we set sail.

We anchored off of the familiar rock of Gibraltar. How many people can say they did crunches on the deck of a ship while looking at three different countries: the UK (Gibraltar), Spain, and Africa? Everyday I am so thankful for this experience and most definitely live each day to it’s fullest because I am always asking myself rhetorical questions like that. How am I so blessed to get to go on adventures like this?

Gypsy Discrimination

2009-09-16T18:43:00.004-05:00

An journal entry about social hierarchy I did for my Intercultural Communications class:

While traveling in Spain I visited Cordoba in Andalusia. Our tour guide took us on a walking tour of the city. We passed the Jewish Medina. This is an area that was confined behind fortified walls. Centuries ago, a city sprung up within these walls within the bustling city of Cordoba. Our guide was very open about the fact that the traditionally Catholic Spaniards were once discriminating against Jewish citizens.
    Now as we passed through the medina, she focused on a modern discrimination: the gypsies. She went on and on about the gypsies. She warned us to stay away from them. She explained different ways they would attempt to con us. She told us to never give them money. We all nodded our heads consenting, most of us unknowingly, to a modern form of discrimination. I think it is easy to look back on history, to the slaves in the south, to the Jews in WWII, to anything, and think, “I wouldn’t ever treat someone that way.”
    What we lose sight of is the fact that when we are in the moment, we do not realize that we are discriminating. It is the way of our society. Our culture is learned through socialization. Therefore, what is known to be right or wrong in learned through what those who know more, our parents, our elders, our teachers… our tour guides. In Spanish culture, there is a social hierarchy. They do not believe that acknowledging gypsies is good. They believe that those that chose to live their lives differently have more power. It is a hardly recognized hierarchy of many cultures. In the US a tour guide would say the same thing about the homeless or beggars.
    The difference between our culture and the Spanish culture in this situation is the way our society confronts the issue. In Spain, gypsies are looked down upon, scoffed at, discriminated against, everyone is taught that gypsies are not people deserving of acknowledgement. In contrast, there is a large movement in the United States to help people in similar situations. Homeless shelters and government funded organizations are set up to assist these struggling humans live their life. Granted, we are attempting to force our form of gypsies to assimilate to our culture. So the question arises: Is it better to not acknowledge the cultural sect of gypsies and let them live their lives? Or is it better to acknowledge the beggars but force them to live the typical American life?
    Our tour guide was discriminative and practicing social hierarchy. But I did not realize this until I reflected on all of the things she told us. Siphoning through all of the new information, the comments about gypsies resounded in my head. Laying in my bed in Cordoba, Spain I realized that I was subject to enculturation in a negative way. I learned that it is important to step back and take any opinion we are subjected to with a grain of salt. Our generation is so practiced in taking what we learn or are told, filing it away in our mind as true, and putting it to practice.
    In order to be a progressive nation, to not get caught up in the repetition of history, to not be looked at as a generation that followed suit in discrimination, we must observe and experience things for ourselves. Now, I know that I do not want to help a gypsy that has stolen a wallet or a gypsy that harms her baby for sympathy change. But, I do want to take the time to step back and ask myself if the gypsy is also subject to enculturation. Has she been taught since she was young that tourists are merely a means to change? That local Spaniards that walk to work everyday are not living their life to the fullest? That their child will also by a gypsy because it is the best social class?
    Social hierarchy will continue for the rest of time until communication builds a bridge between the classes. We cannot continue to take what we learn and accept it as true. We must understand that there are cultures within cultures that deserve to be studied and understood.
    I never gave change to a gypsy while I was in Spain. On my tour the following day another guide told me to ignore the gypsies, they were bad people. And so the social hierarchy continued. And so the misunderstanding continued?

MV Explorer

2009-09-01T16:04:00.003-05:00

I am surrounded by ocean as far as I can see in any direction. About a thousand miles from shore in either direction. It was a surreal experience leaving the Halifax harbor. As we left port, everyone on the ship crowded the railings to cheer on the crew as they threw the heavy lines into the water. Bagpipes were playing as the MV Explorer left the dock. At the mouth of the harbor family members gathered with signs and Canadian flags. We could barely make them out, but saw camera flashes coming from that beach. My roommate Molly and I oohed and ahhed at the beautiful scene of the harbor activity.

A group of us pulled chairs to the railing, watched North America shrink behind us, and chatted eagerly about the adventures to come.

It is a ship not a boat. It is a voyage not a cruise. Captain Jeremey takes his job seriously, so does the rest of the crew. I am definitely not complaining about the towel service and the fact that my bed is made pristinely every morning, but when it comes to our favorite activity of cards, specifically spoons, and the crew will not relinquish silverware to us, then it’s a little overbearing.

There are so many interesting people on this ship. Each meal, each lecture, each card table, I meet new people. Everyone is so different yet so intrinsically connected by this amazing fact that we are sailing around the world together. Courtney (SLU/ Miami) and I have often talked about what an unforgettable and life-changing experience freshman year of college was. However, we always conclude our conversations with, “ I would never want to go through it again though.” Yet, here I find myself not knowing anyone and going through the same introductions over and over again, “My name is Kate. I’m from Wisco. I go to Miami.. in ohio.”

Some people came with their boyfriend/ girlfriend. Some people came with other students from their school (there are 60 from san diego and 43 from Colorado-boulder). Em would be happy to know that I felt particularily at home among a group of Santa Clara students, mostly just because I thought it was really cool that they all had walkie talkies to communicate. I am totally getting a walkie talkie.

We rock and then we roll. Then we roooolllllll. And we all stumble. And I fall out of the shower. And they give out free sea sickness medecine. I don’t feel sick, I just feel intoxicated as I try to walk a straight path or fall asleep in bed. A particular challenge is working out on the fitness equipment. But, it is nice to be rocked to sleep.

Our room is bigger than expected. I have decorated the walls with pictures and a large map so we can track where we are. One of the three channels we receive on our in room television shows the location (longitutde and latitude) of the boat as well as the speed we are going. We usually average about 15 knots. The MV Explorer is currently the fastest boat of its size with the ability to outrun hurricanes and the like. However, SAS slows the boat so that we have enough time to take class and such. I think that they should just go full speed so we can hit up more countries, eh?

My classes are really interesting and will be challenging. I have three classes on A days: Diaspora: History of Immigration and it’s affect on the world, Anthropology of Food and Culture, and International Marketing. On B days I have two classes: Global Studies and Intercultural communications.

Overall: It’s been amazing. At each moment there is something going on. There are so many fun and great people. This has already been an unforgettable experience. I can’t wait to travel the world with these amazing students, teachers, and crew!

2009-08-26T21:22:00.001-05:00

The 99th Voyage coming in to port

The 100th Voyage to depart the 28th

a role model , i read about him in ESPN magazine in May

Kate's Memorables: Canada Edition

2009-08-26T19:59:00.000-05:00

Weather: mostly overcast

Stays: Marriott Harbourfront - concierges floor- NICE! I especially loved how friendly the staff was and the fact that they wore kilts.

Coolest Moments- Adventures
1) going through customs in Toronto: i had to be pulled aside to immigrations for questions, probably because I had a one way ticket.
2) realizing that it will be legal for me to drink for the rest of my life, and taking advantage of that: molesins, alexander keith's, moosehead, and labatts. canadian brews, eh?
3) running to pier 22 along the boardwalk
4) shopping in historic properties afterdark
5) seeing the citadel and the guards change

Top Food
1)**Alexander Keith's Amber Ale- brewed in nova scotia est. 1820 **
2) maple syrup pasta (salty's upstairs next to the hotel)
3) maple dressing on salad
4) Brewbaker Lobster (5fishermen on Argyle St)
5) Labatt Blue beer

Top "Culture Shocks"
1) thank you, canadian weatherman, for showing me the forecast for yellowknife, northwest territories and iqaluit, nunavut... if the names don't give you the eskimo feeling, just know that they are cities close to the north pole. and youbetchya ya getta knoooww alll aboot that weather up ther yaderhey.
2) canadians say 'a bit' after pretty much everything and everyone is 'folks'
3) maple syrup can be incorporated into any meal (see above Food Section)
4) I had no idea about the halifax explosion and enjoyed hearing about that on the tour today
5) Interesting to hear how much pride Nova Scotia has in its part in history- specifically in the Titanic victim recovery.

Current Events
1) Ted Kennedy's death is all over the news... as i am sure he is in the US. Thoughts: Grandpa (conservative) says that he literally got away with murder with the drowning of that woman. The media-we are watching CNN- (liberal) seems to be remembering him fondly. To me his personal life seems to be a red flag, but his progress in the senate appears to be impeccable. But, I don't really follow politics as much as I should.
2) The Brett Favre Goat- This was all over the news the night before I left and all over the news in the airport.. granted I was in and flew out of Milwaukee. I am just not sure what us Packer fans are supposed to think about this, offended? relieved? are we mad about this? is it funny? I heard the lady, who had the goat, speak on the radio and she said that she just bought it to eat.. I guess it just the fact that it was the first time we saw the number 4 in purple.. even if it was on a goat.

Thoughts, Fears, Hopes
1) Cannot wait for the MV Explorer to arrive tomorrow
2) Fun to hear Grandpa's point of view on the history and culture of nova scotia
3) Missing home of course.
4) Wishing my bffs were here to explore the town with me and nervous/ excited to meet people tomorrow.
5) Got my first charm for my semester charm bracelet: a pewter (because nova scotia is known for it) maple leaf! Exactly what I wanted :)

Ohhh Canadaa

2009-08-26T14:55:00.001-05:00

Grandpa and I arrived in Halifax on the afternoon of August 25th. It was a beautiful drive from the airport to the harbor. Halifax is properly named the city of trees, it is as if the streets and buildings forcefully pushed aside trees in a deep forest.

I was eager to do as many Canadian things as possible. I tried to adopt their accent, although I felt at home among the northern pronunciations! We are staying at the Marriott Harbourfront. It's gorgeous. We are on the concierge's floor. We made our way over there after we arrived and treated ourselves to some fine canadian beer- molesin and moosehead. We went to Salty's a dinner place we can see from our window, with a marvelous view of the harbor. As we watched tug boats come and go, dusk fall over the industrious skyline, and listened to cannon bangs from a reenacting pirate ship, we treated ourselves to authentic canadian cuisine. Grandpa had the fresh halibut and I had chicken pasta WITH MAPLE SYRUP- i needed to have something with maple in it before we embarked.

The morning of the 26th I went for a run along the boardwalk of the harbor. I was pushed onward and onward by the hope that the MV Explorer would be in port and I may catch a glimpse before boarding. Alas, when I arrived at Pier 22 I was greeted by a sign that said 'only open on cruise ship days.' Jogging the long (considering I was told it was less than 1km (.5mi) away) route back to the hotel I was overtaken by the realization that Halifax is a perfect division between old and new as well as a coersion between industry and residence. There are sea-wary boutiques beneath a modern office building, a scene of a ship refurbished from the 1700s with a cruise ship as a backdrop, and a ferry that has been running since the 18th century represents the steadfast connection between dartmouth and halifax- running the same course and frequency for centuries to connect people and time. As I mentioned before, there is an industrious skyline. There were flames in the sky as oil was refined but below there a small grassy island with a lighthouse, Young Street (the most prestigious address in halifax) is a mere block or two from a huge freight area at the mouth of the harbor, and a representation of the coersion is the farmers market that is under construction between the freight area and some hip apartments.

We went on a greyline tour in the afternoon. Sat next to a worldly couple that gave me some pointers for traveling in Asia. We visited the Citadel and watched a changing of the guards. Our guide presented a brief history: basically, halifax was a mediation between New England and Fort Louis (200 miles away in Canada). Sir Cornwallis needed people to come here to populate the city- after many tries, the most enticing offer was a promise of 1L of rum a day EVERYDAY for a whole year for each man, woman, or child that colonized in Halifax. Our tour also took us to the titanic memorial graveyard- all of the victims + survivors were taken to Halifax, the closest harbor. We saw a few noteworthy graves, most noteworthy (kinda..) - Jack Dawson, Leonardo DiCaprio's character in the movie Titanic.

Tonight we are continuing to soak up the Canadian culture, i.e. we are going to 5fishermen for some lobster, caught today in the Atlantic. I haven't been a fan of lobster before.. but perhaps Halifax and a culture-hungry gusto may be the flavor that makes it the best ever farewell North America dinner.

Tomorrow, I will board the ship between 9-11am with the other work-study students. HOW EXCITING!! I can't wait to be on a cruise ship.

As I said in my final american phone call (to Caitlin) "i love you.. goodbye!..i'm off to see the world!"

Information

2009-06-23T10:47:00.000-05:00

This link gives you more information about the voyage. We are the 100th voyage for SAS. This link shows you the dates we will be in port, the classes offered, and a faculty overview.

*** Under the tab "staying in touch" it tells you the addresses to mail to and the suggested airmail dates*** i would love to get mail... letters...postcars..etc.

( http://www.semesteratsea.org/voyages/upcoming-voyages/fall-2009.php )

This link is to a video of the ship- the MV Explorer :)

( http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=551268326890&oid=19196448616 )

Why I Chose SAS

2009-06-23T10:28:00.000-05:00

I was deciding between three very different study abroad options. 1) Semester At Sea 2) Buenos Aires, Argentina 3) Luxembourg.

Luxembourg- through Miami University. Therefore very easy to transfer credits. Many friends would be traveling with me. Ability to see a lot of Europe!

Buenos Aires- A truly foreign cultural experience. Ability to use Spanish. Independent experience.

I chose Semester at Sea because it was a truly unique experience. I could see so much of the world in 4months for a reasonable price. Also, I don't know anyone else going on the voyage, which is cool- i love meeting new people. The classes are amazing.

This is how I explain SAS to people: "essentially is a cruise ship that has been converted into a university. I embark from Nova Scotia in late august, circumnavigate the globe, and end in San Diego in mid-december. Every day that we are at sea we are in class, every day that we are in port it's like the weekend- no matter how long we are there- the only rules are you cannot bring food back on the ship and you cannot cross international boundaries. I have a work-study grant, so I will work 2 hours a day while at sea- but I have no obligations while at port. While we are at port we can take SAS sponsored trips, which are more expensive but include meals and lodging and are often times safer, or we can do 'indy' trips- where we plan our own activities with friends we meet on the ship. I think I will try to do as many 'indy' things as possible because I don't want to commit myself to too much. But, SAS offers some activities that are really cool! For Example, I am going to venture to Cambodia for three days while we are at port in Vietnam, I will take advantage of some service opportunities, meet some college students in Japan, hula dance lessons in hawaii, and take some factory tours. Independently I plan on being as active as possible. I will spend my 21st birthday on the small island country of Mauritius, off the coast of Madagascar. I hope I can go sailing, snorkeling, hiking, and end the day with a party on the beach. That would make for the most unforgettable birthday EVER! Sounds pretty cool, right?"

2009-06-23T10:24:00.000-05:00

Here is the itinerary of Fall 2009 voyage, along with the map of the places that I am visiting:

Itinerary:

Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada - Aug. 28th
Cadiz, Spain
Casablanca, Morocco
Accra, Ghana
Cape Town, South Africa
Port Louis, Mauritius
Chennai, India
Ho Chi Minh City, Viet Nam
Hong Kong / Shanghai, China
Yokohama / Kobe, Japan
Honolulu / Hilo, Hawaii, USA
San Diego, California, USA - Dec. 14th