My Itinerary

My Itinerary
Where I will be between August 26 and December 13

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

The South Africa Chronicles


We’ve come to the end of Africa, the very edge of a continent I have always felt oddly connected to. The constant repeat of Shakira’s Waka Waka has played its final note (her hips haven’t stopped lying, though), the Atlantic Ocean is behind us, and a whole new set of countries in Asia awaits. I will warn you up front, this entry is going to be long. South Africa did not have the same kind of progression or straightforwardness as Canada, Morocco, or Ghana. That’s not to say that those countries were simple, of course, but South Africa was a six day non-stop thrill ride of beautiful sights, complex feelings about myself and my surroundings, and late nights out with my friends. I’m going to split this entry up by each day, mostly because every day was extremely unique, also a differing feature of our time spent in Cape Town. Be prepared for a number of “best of’s.” So, here we go. I hope I don’t miss anything, but I probably will. I have in my other entries, but I’ll never really admit to that…even though I just did. Damn. Also, be aware that I’m going to be talking about alcohol, because it certainly made up a portion of my time in South Africa. Whatever, I’m legal here, so sorry for all you stingy prudes. Future employers, please still hire me, thanks. Mom and Dad, I’m still a good little boy, I swear. Everyone else…yeah, I got nothing. Let’s begin!


Day One, Friday, September 23rd, 2011: Sunrise Over the Table, FDPalooza, and Long Street Lounging


The general consensus around the ship for the couple of days leading up to South Africa was that the sunrise was something everyone should definitely wake up for, especially after the disappointment of the entry into Ghana. To be completely honest, in all its simple beauty and anxious nerves as we made our way up to the port, it was one of the best mornings of my life. Finally seeing mountains again, especially one as impressive as Table Mountain, was comforting and humbling. Plus, in Colorado, it’s just mountains, no ocean. Reflections on the water with the purpley-pinkish red sky left me utterly speechless and extremely overwhelmed with excitement and eagerness. After circling around for a bit, we pulled into the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, a positively posh place with stores, restaurants, and tourists and locals mixing and mingling. It was a welcomed change from the less-than-ideal ports in Casablanca and Tema. The rest of the day was spent doing FDP’s, SAS-sponsored trips that we have to do for class. My frist one was on the ship in a classroom, so many of my friends got off the ship before I did. That being said, I’m completely okay with that because my FDP, Authors in Cape Town, was very inspiring and encouraging. We had three writers come and talk to us about, you guessed it, my favorite thing, writing. They were all very warm and open and gave great advice about the world of professional writing. Afterwards we had the chance to talk to them one-on-one and they all told me to go for it and to not listen to the people that tell me otherwise. So, all you haters out there, step off! Just saying. Anyway, my second FDP was a visit to the Gender Equity Unit of Parliament. We hopped on a bus to the building in downtown Cape Town. The city is modern and beautiful, a bit of a reminder of America and its cities. When we made it to the office, we listened to the man in charge (I can’t remember his name—oops) of the organization about South Africa’s efforts to bring equality to the genders and those that identify within the LGBTI community. Just like the authorts, he was really inspirational—he does amazing work for the disenfranchised people of the country. Afterwards, we went to Parliament itself and got to go inside the chambers. South Africa has 11 official languages, so they have 11 translators sitting in the booths above that translate for all the members. They also serve 5 year terms. Otherwise, it’s a pretty similar system to ours: its bicameral, members run and get voted on, and there are two other branches, which are located in Bloemfontein and Pretoria. My final FDP of the day was a night out at the theatre to receive a backstage tour, drink wine and eat cheese and other appetizers, and see Fiddeler on the Roof in order to write a review on it for class. Paging London, anybody? The night was wonderful, the show was fantastic (killer design and acting!), and the wine was, obviously, delicious. When the show was over, Gabriela and I decided to hit up Long Street to check out the bar scene. Though it was overrun by SAS students, it was a fun area with lots of lights and music. We met up with Brooke and Dip and tried to find this club they wanted to go to called 31/Atmosphere/nobody-really-knew, but we ended up at KFC instead. We then hopped in a cab and took that to two different gay clubs called Bronx and Crew. An evening to (mostly) remember, we were out until a solid 3:15 in the morning dancing with mostly locals who were completely awesome. And this was only the first day!


Day Two, Saturday, September 24th, 2011: Bikes, Wine, Cheetahs, Brandy, it Must be Stellenbosch!


Following a bitterly short sleep of somewhere in the neighborhood of four hours, I awoke in my bed, still a little drunk, and hobbled upstairs to Tymitz Sqaure to meet Ionna, Ali, and a handful of other people for a combination bike tour with wine and brandy tasting in Stellenbosch. Sounds a little dangerous, doesn’t it? We took a taxi to Long Street, met a guide, hopped on a train, and took it to Stellenbosch, an outer suburb of Cape Town in wine country. South Africa has the perfect climate for wine making, so there are a lot of vineyards and wine farms. When we got to Stellenbosch, we got on our bikes and set out. After a few minutes, we made it to our first wine tasting. Though we weren’t exactly dressed nice, after a couple glasses of wine, we were all feeling pretty nice. A solid buzz made our rides all the more enjoyable, though. Before making our way to the next tasting, we stopped at a cheetah sanctuary. After a small entry fee, WE GOT TO PET THEM. I PET A CHEETAH. HIS NAME WAS ENIGMA. HE WAS SLEEPING AND PURRING, WHICH WAS KIND OF BORING, BUT I GOT TO PET A CHEETAH. As you can see, it was pretty exciting. After my enigmatic cheetah experience with Enigma, we went to a brandy distillery. Ever tried brandy? Well, if you have, you’re probably a rich old billionaire. I’ve never met anybody who has actually tried it, and the stereotype is that it’s a snobby rich person drink, so we were all interested in tasting it. After a brief lecture on how to drink it (yes, there’s even a proper method of brandy consumption—you have to sniff it before you drink it, apparently), we all said bottoms up and downed our drinks. Okay, that’s not true. If you chugged brandy, you would most likely throw up, unless you have a stomach of steel. It is STRONG. The alcohol content was somewhere around 38%, so two tiny glasses that weren’t even half full was plenty to make us all feel pretty loopy. The next leg of our bike journey was the most wobbly. We stopped at a restaurant for lunch and had the most delicious meal outside, after which was followed by our final wine tasting. After all this alcohol, it was nice to have a very short ride back to the train station. When the train arrived, we all promptly passed out in our seats and arrived back in Cape Town in a foggy hangover haze. Later on, I discovered that there was free Wifi throughout the waterfront, so I skyped with a few people and caught up on Facebook and the like. Lots of SAS kids were utilizing it throughout our stay, and it didn’t seem like anybody was judging. Our next chance at free internet won’t be until at least India. The rest of the night was spent drinking in Mitchell’s, a local pub on the waterfront that was full of us students. It really was nice having a solid meeting place near the ship that brought so many people together. I certainly got to talk to a lot of different people each night we were there. Many of us SAS-ers also ended up at a club called Voom Voom for some awesome second-floor dancing.


Day Three, Sunday, September 25th, 2011: Not a Safari, Not Skydiving, a Township


After another long night with little sleep (this was a common theme on the ship for a lot of people in Cape Town), I was supposed to go on a safari for the day. I slept past our meeting time. My next option was skydiving. When I woke up for that, the thought of throwing myself out of a plane made me want to vomit, so I slept through that as well. Thinking my day was shot and my plans were all gone, I found a large group of people going to a township for a party. The idea intrigued me, especially because we were encouraged to visit a township at least once while in South Africa. We piled into a van, turned up the tunes, and jammed our way outside the city to the township. For those of you less in the know about South African social, political, and legal structure, townships were segregated towns for non-white people only during the age of Apartheid. Since white supremacy was the law of the land, townships received extremely poor government support. The townships were shanty towns of rows of shacks, essentially. I shouldn’t say “were,” though, because they still are poor, desolate towns of utter squalor. Driving through them was pretty depressing, but when we got to the party, the people were so happy, much like the Ghanaians. It was at a restaurant called “Mzoli’s Meat,” in which the meat was served in giant buckets full of different animals. I’m not entirely sure what I ate, or how much, but it was way too delicious. Messy, too, because there were no utensils or napkins involved. Nobody really cared, though, because once again, drinks were involved. If I’m sounding like an alcoholic at this point, I swear I’m not. Remember the previous countries? I barely drank. After the township party, we returned to Cape Town and I joined up with a bunch of people for Bailey’s birthday. We went to a restaurant right on the water. I didn’t eat much since I had already eaten on the ship, but I went for the experience. We were sang to by a South African band, including Shosholoza and their version of happy birthday. It was really entertaining and I’m very annoyed my camera died. Then, I went out again to Bronx and Crew. This time I went with Briana, Alden, Kevin, and quite a few other people that I don’t remember. It was fun going back with a different crowd, especially since there were a few other guys.  We left quite late once again. However, I didn’t go right to bed when we got back. Kevin, Alden, and I (but really just Alden and I) went and tried to play with the giant seals hanging out right outside of our ship on the dock. They were not happy, especially when we approached them. We ran off after they flashed their giant fangs. I then hung out with Alden for a bit and went and visited his sister who is also on the ship. We all stayed up pretty late just talking and chilling, but most of the details are a bit fuzzy. I think I went to bed around 5 in the morning?


Day Four, Monday, September 26th, 2011: The Peninsula


You guessed it—I woke up after only a little bit of sleep. Instead of blowing off my plans and figuring out things later like I did the day beforehand, I rallied myself and got up to visit Cape Point and the rest of the peninsula. From the moment I sat down in the van until our first stop at Camp’s Bay, I was passed out, which was somewhat worrying because I didn’t want to miss anything. However, when I opened my eyes when we arrived, I was blown away and promptly stayed awake for the rest of the day. There’s not too much to say other than that all of our stops (Camp’s Bay, Hout’s Bay, Long Beach, Cape Point, and Simon’s Town and Boulder’s Beach) were gorgeous. Hout’s Bay was one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. The mountains and cliffs rose perfectly from the crystal blue-green water and pleasantly touched the sky. Cape Point was really unique, too, because it is the most southwestern point of the African continent. We were literally at the edge of the world. They had a sign post with mileages of other major cities, so that certainly put it into a larger context. Also, just before we arrived there, we saw ostriches and baboons. Yeah, just chilling on the side of a road in a farm. Whatever. No big deal, right? Ostrich farms are real things in South Africa. Boulder’s Beach was fun since there were lots of cute little penguins. It’s currently their mating season, though, so we didn’t get to get up close and personal. However, since it’s their mating season, I’m relatively sure I heard two penguins getting up close and personal with each other. There were some pretty satisfied shrieks coming from behind the foliage as I was rounding one corner. That’s a noise I won’t be forgetting anytime soon. As the day was winding down, I thought about how lucky I am to be able to see such beauty all around the world. Then, that night, I went out again to a club with a bunch of other students on the other side of the city called Mercury and stayed out far too late again. Great success.


Day Five, Tuesday, September 27th, 2011: Robben Island, Table Mountain, and Dinner in the Trees


Robben Island is much like Alcatraz—it’s a former prison on a small island off the coast of the mainland. Nelson Mandela was imprisoned there for 18 of his 27 year imprisonment. 27 years is not even my entire life yet; I’d still have seven years to go before being released. Scary thought. Anyway, my favorite thing about the morning was that I got to for free. You heard it here first, folks, I weasled my way in without dropping a single South African Rand. It wasn’t easy, though, especially considering the ferry was sold out. I treid talking to the ticket office, but they were pretty unhelpful. As a final resort, I went and asked the people collecting the tickets. They had three extra. I asked how much one cost, but they said I could just take it and get on. The Jew in me was pleased. The ferry to the island was even choppier than the MV Explorer, but that’s mostly because it was much smaller. Even still, it was a fun reminder of rough seas and what we can expect between South Africa and Mauritius. When we got to the island, we were directed to a bus with a tour guide to take us around. To be perfectly honest, I found the tour to be a little lackluster. It was hard to understand our guide and too much of it was spent on the bus. It was interesting seeing Mandela’s jail cell and hearing our guides personal narrative—he was an ex political prisoner on the island. Since they rely so much on that, they don’t have placards or signs, so that makes it hard to follow along. Despite all this, it was still a pretty moving morning. It served as a reminder of humanity’s power to both destroy and forgive—although we can do horribly painful things to one another, we have it within us to look past that and move on sometimes. I really don’t have much room to complain anyway since I got there for free. After a small meal on the ship and changing into different clothes, a group of about eight girls and myself (piiiiiiiimp) took a taxi to Table Mountain, the magnificent constant backdrop of Cape Town. Standing at 1,084.6 meters above sea level, it’s that high in comparison to the mountains in Colorado, but it is a damn steep climb. For all you hipster/bro-y/hippie/Block Plan loving Colorado College folk out there, the hike up is a lot like the Manitou Incline. I huffed and puffed my way up while thinking about everything and made it up in about one hour and 45 minutes. Speaking of CC, while I was at the summit, Marek and I took pictures with my Colorado state flag. We know how to rep! In the middle of our improptu photoshoot, a couple came up to us and asked if we were from Colorado. We obviously said yes, to which they said that they were as well! We asked where they were from and they said Colorado Springs! I then said I go to CC and it turns out the woman used to work in the Res Life office! We rattled off a few names to each other and I knew a good handful of them. It really is a small world. The whole moment reminded that I do still have a life back in Colorado. I may not be there, and things may still be going on, but it’s comforting to know I have that a world to return to and not something totally unfamiliar and scary. The top was absolutely spectacular. 360 degree views of the water, the harbor, Cape Town, and the South African landscape. We spent about an hour and a half walking around up there and taking pictures and watching the sunset and just taking it all in. Other SAS students were up there, too. Some of them climbed, some of them took the cable car, but we were all glad we did it. For me, I wouldn’t have been able to leave Cape Town without having hiked up Table Mountain. Since the sun was nearly set by the time we were leaving, we took the cable car down. It was really scary actually because it rotated 360 degrees and dropped at a very steep angle. We made it, though! Unfortunately, we returned back to the ship later than we expected, so we had very little time to shower and get ready for our dinner at a treetop restaurant in Stellenbosch. Maria, Gabriela, Alden, Adrienne, Brian, Marek, Jordan, Connie, and myself all piled into our van and trekked it out there. The restaurant was right by one of the wineries I went to on the second day, so it was vaguely familiar. It was built into the trees, so we had to climb a staircase into the canopy of flora to our table. We placed our drink orders and then meandered downstairs to the buffet, a giant cafeteria-style line with giant plates of all different foods. I filled my plate up with meats, veggies, and so much food that it would make a fat kid at fat camp cry. I took the longest to eat, but that may have something to do with that I’m a slow eater. We also got serenaded by an a cappella group. They sang Shosholoza and a rock song. Dinner theatre, anybody? A woman also painted our faces with white paint, so we all felt pretty bad ass when we returned to the ship with our faces covered.  It was an excellent meal, shared with some truly wonderful company who made the experience that much better. After we payed the bill, Alden, Adrienne, and I wondered downstairs before everyone else and warmed up next to a fire. Some locals were there and they taught us a few words in their language of Xhosha. Total pronunciation fail, but whatever, it was fun. All of us left and then returned back to the ship. I spent some time with Gabriela. Then Alden joined us. Then Maria. Then Alden and I left and wandered around for a bit on the ship, greeting everyone as they returned from their nights out. It was my only night not really going out and getting silly from drinking, and I am okay with that.


Day Six, Wedenesday, September 28th, 2011: Saying Goodbye to Cape Town


I spent my final day with the Amy Biehl Foundation Trust. Amy Biehl was an anti-apartheid activist who was stoned and stabbed to death at 26 by the very people she was trying to help. Her parents then founded the non-profit in order to keep her memory alive and aid the poor townships of South Africa. Sad and moving, her story is ultimately a tale of triumph and the power of forgiveness in the context of post-apartheid South Africa, a place still plagued with inequality, racism, and many other disparities and problems. I urge everyone to read up on her story more and support the organization. We watched a video at their office before actually heading into the townships and visiting their schools. Disappointingly, the kids weren’t as excited to see as the Ghanians were, but they may have been because they are more used to white people. Again, it was all very depressing seeing all these houses that are no bigger than the room that I sleep in at home. I felt pretty helpless, but when you are only in a place for such a short amount of time, there isn’t much you can do. The most exciting part of the day was when we visited the final school. The kids there were in an after school arts program, so they put on a music, dance, and theatre performance for all of us. These kids are TALENTED. They have got some serious dance moves and vocal cords and acting chops. It very obviously made them happy, too, so it looks like the ABFT is doing its job well. Upon returning to the ship, everyone filed into the Union to hear the Archbishop Desmund Tutu address us. Yes, that’s right, Nobel Peace Prize Desmund Tutu. That guy. He gave the most powerful and uplifting speech, talking about how we have to keep dreaming and remaining idealistic in the face of adversity. He also talked about the story of Adam and Eve and how that is a great lesson in the interconnectedness of humanity and our constant desire for companionship. I was reminded of Adam Braun at a few points because he talked about how when we return to America, people won’t recognize us. People will wonder who we are because we will be so moved by injustice and not be able to be indifferent anymore. I’m feeling that already. He was quite the kooky old man, telling a lot of jokes and always smiling and giggling. He ended his speech by saying that God looks at Semester at Sea and cheers. He then called all of us awesome and ended it. Afterwards, he allowed us to take pictures with him. I got a great one of me cheesing like a complete goon, but whatever; how often do you get to meet Desmund Tutu and shake his hand? Not very often, if ever. I ate dinner and then watched the ship leave port, which I had yet to do. I stayed up at the front, which ended up clearing out pretty quickly. It was cool, though, mostly because I got to be by myself and reflect on not only South Africa, but the entire past month on this amazing, inspiring, and life-changing continent that is so vastly misunderstood, portrayed incorrectly, and wonderfully complex that I can’t imagine not returning.


And that, my friends, was Cape Town, South Africa, in the best possible way I could describe. I have so much more to say about it, and just Africa in general, but it’s 1 in the morning and I’m exhaused. Goodnight, Moon.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Just Dance


We could all learn a little from Lady Gaga. No, I’m not saying to wear ridiculous outfits made of meat, Kermit the Frog, bubble wrap, or any other zany material, and I’m not saying to make inappropriately long music videos featuring coarse nudity, themes involving murder and/or suicide, and excessive alcohol consumption, but I think she said it best during her early days to “just dance, it’ll be okay.”

Dance is a great way to release pent up energy, get some exercise, or just shake what your mama gave you (otherwise known as your booty). On SAS, there is certainly no shortage of dancing, and last night was a prime example. One of my bosses in the Communications Office, Spencer (the photographer!), has conceived the “SAS Dance Tribe,” a group of students devoted to silently boogieing down through the corridors of the MV Explorer. Yes, silently. But Sam! You need music to dance! What has the ocean done to you crazy fools? Well, a lot, but that’s another story.

It’s not entirely silent, but it’s titled that because there’s no sound system involved other than each individual persons iPod. Basically, Spencer created an hour long playlist of various songs that we were to all play at the same time and get down, shimmy, cha cha, tango, groove, or any other variation of simply dancing, or moving your body to the beat. We busted our moves from the Union, in and above Tymitz Square, in the Library, past the classrooms, in the Piano Bar, through the Garden Lounge, outside on the 6th and 7th Decks (despite ridiculous winds), wherever our perpetual beats took us. The best parts were the looks people gave us. Honestly, though, Shakira’s hips don’t lie, so why should ours?

Upon completion of the not-actually-silent silent playlist, some of us joined the shipboard community at large for a dance party in the Union (with a DJ and speakers and a single rhythm to dance to, mind you). Already drenched in sweat, I kept on dancing through the night, schooling a few poor souls in the occasional dance off. For a skinny white Jewish boy, I can really shake my tailfeather, though my mother probably would disagree. I’m really feeling it this morning; I’m quite sore. Was it worth it, though? Absolutely. Why pass up the opportunity to have some fun and release some steam after our first Global Studies exam and discussion day? There’s no reason, I say! No reason! Well, unless you have a broken foot or some horrible terminal disease, of course, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t apply to anyone on the ship, which is a good thing.

Interesting feature of dancing on the ship: the motion of the ocean. Seas have been rougher than sandpaper, so we’d all shift a few steps throughout the Dance Tribe and the party in the Union. (I know the ocean to sandpaper is a weird comparison, but that’s all I’ve got right now. Work with me here.) Let’s be honest for a moment, though: that was part of each of our individual improvised routines, and it looked really, really awesome, despite making things a bit tricky at times.

T-2 days until South Africa. Even though I used it in Ghana, it still applies: Waka waka! This is Africa!

P.S. I'm at work right now, using my other bosses Internet. I'm a sneaky sneak, I know.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Great Neptune's Beard!


Another blog entry? So shortly after my last one? Say it aint so!

Fast asleep in dream land this morning, I hadn’t a care in the world. We had a no class day scheduled, so sleeping in was the only thing on my agenda. Well, that, and reading Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe for class, but sleeping in was definitely much more appealing. Anyway, while I was floating through unconsciousness, drums started to beat in the hallway outside. Whistles blew as well. Thinking it was a bunch of goons playing Ghanaian drums, I stayed in bed. Later on, the noise came back. Suddenly, their was pounding on the door. It didn’t go away, so I got up and was met with a camera flash and cheering staff members. Neptune Day had finally arrived.

Okay, most of the above is a lie. We all knew Neptune Day was scheduled for today because it’s always the day SAS crosses the Equator. So, yes, I’m in the southern hemisphere. For the first time in my life, I’m below 0 degrees latitude. The captain blew out a horn to signal the moment we crossed over the proverbial line of lore. I suddenly felt really far away from everything, but that feeling went away quickly. Admittedly, though, I can’t wait to flush a toilet and see it spin in the other direction. Is that a weird thing to get excited over?

Anyway, Neptune Day is a fabulous little SAS tradition. During breakfast this morning, nobody really knew what exactly to expect because they kept everything pretty hush hush from us students. When it was time, King Neptune (Captain Jeremy) summoned us to the 7th Deck. Anxiously standing around the pool, Neptune and his Court marched up to us mere polliwogs. After a brief introduction and kneeling before him, the festivities began. In order to become a shellback, we had to go through a rather vile process involving having fish guts (really just some kind of green slime) poured on our heads, jumping into the pool, and kissing a slightly gross fish. We were then knighted into our new glory. For the really brave, you were given the option of shaving your head. Three plastic chairs lined up in a corner were open to anybody on the shipboard community to rid themselves of hair. It’s a tradition among sailors to shave off all their hair in respect to King Neptune after crossing the Equator. At the same time, there was an epic dance party. Getting down in the middle of the sea is SICK. What was the result of being presented with the choice to shave my head or not, you ask?




I did it. Gone. Done. No hair. You may be thinking I got caught up in the moment, especially considering I kept saying it would be a day-of-decision, but I had been thinking for quite some time about taking the plunge. The thing is, the best way to get as much as possible out of any experience is to throw yourself into it as much as you possibly can. What better way to show my growing love for the ocean to keep up with a tradition like something as simple as shaving your head after crossing 0 degrees latitude. Yes, I loved my hair and felt like it was part of my identity, but I can feel myself slowing changing as this semester goes on. So many people are walking around with freshly bald heads. Men, women, young, old, every type of member of our community embraced the tradition. Some cried as the razor cut away their locks, but afterwards their tears were replaced with cheers. Catch that sweet rhyme? Bet you poets liked that.

My hair will be back eventually. It’ll be as long as it was yesterday probably by Christmas. Until then, I’ll be rocking the bald and short haired look. Everyone on this ship looks amazing, bald or not, but it’s so amazing to see so many people rocking this new look so well. My love for the people around me continues to grow as we continue to hop from port to port, slowly transforming ourselves physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually into new people with endless stories to share. There lies the magic of Semester at Sea, something that I’m continuing to try to understand. Maybe I won’t until after the voyage comes to a close, but I know now that what I am doing is special, so much so that it requires a level of empathy for the world and its problems from anybody brave enough to take the plunge. At the end of the day, we’re a bit spoiled, but with the number of people giving back and slowly becoming different people, that hardly matters. Like I said before, so many people shaved their heads, and all of the hair is being donated to Wigs for Kids. The people that didn’t shave aren’t bad people or any worse than those that did. For me, though, it became simple as my time in Ghana was drawing to a close. Besides, at the end of the day, all hair really is is dead protein on your head. Ghanaians (and to a certain lesser degree, Moroccans) celebrated the simple things, so why can’t I?

Five days to South Africa!

Friday, September 16, 2011

Save the Ghana for your Mama!


Wow. Okay. Ghana. I’m still processing it all. WHAT A PLACE! Fun fact: my name is Yao. It’s because I was born on a Thursday.

While my Morocco entry featured hesitation about aspects of the culture, levels of disappointment and discomfort, and a somewhat ambivalent tone, I have almost nothing but positive things to say about our second port of Tema, Ghana. Much like the morning of docking in Casablanca, I woke up relatively early to witness our approach to land. The Tema skyline wasn’t quite as exciting as Casablanca’s, mostly because it’s a simple port city that relies more on commerce than tourism; the real excitement is in Takoradi, Cape Coast, and Accra (not to say Tema isn’t exciting, because it is, and we’ll get to that later). There were less people milling about on the 7th Deck than Moroccco, too. I hope we aren’t getting jaded! I know I’m not, so that’s good. Once we finally arrived, we were immediately greeted by a group of men on drums and women dancing. Waka Waka, this is Africa, anybody? Yes, Morocco is in Africa, but Ghana has a more “African” vibe to it. It’s true, though. The whole country has a heart, a soul, a beat, an electrifying rhythm that’s pretty impossible to ignore. So, let’s get to it!

My first three days were spent on the Senase Homestay with Can Do Land Tours, organized by my dear friend, Lou. She’s splendidly Swedish, which is beside the point, but it’s fun and alliterative. Our group of about 30 students walked out the port to find our tour guide, a native Ghanaian named Fred. We were immediately swarmed by people selling stuff. Difference between them and Moroccan salesmen? Well, a lot. For one, they make bracelets and other things right in front of you. I got my name on a black band in red, yellow, and green. We can pretend I’m African, right? Second, they are friendly. Very friendly. Almost to a fault. I felt bad saying no to them, but I can’t buy everything. Since they are so friendly, they’re pretty easy to take advantage of as well; I paid extremely little for some things that clearly were worth more, which looking back on makes me feel like a greedy American. Thirdly, they are willing to trade. I gave one of them a bandana for a little trinket. Lastly, and probably most frighteningly, the concepts of “no” and “personal space” don’t entirely match up to what I’m used to. I’d tell them I didn’t want something because I already had it or didn’t have money, but they’d shove it in my face anyway and ask for my money. They WILL follow you ANYWHERE. In Tema, a guy gave me a painting. He said to pay him later. I thought I’d never see him again and that I got a sweet deal on a free painting, but alas, he took some bus to Accra, found our group, found me, and got the money. Total strike out, but whatever, the painting is cool. It’s of a tree. Crazy fact? This is all within the first two hours of getting off the ship.

Our bus ride to Senase was…eventful. By eventful, I mean long. Also, bumpy. Ghanaian road infrastructure doesn’t exist. Highways are paved, of course, but not particularly well, and a lot of roads are really just dirt paths with giant bumps and holes at every corner. It’s like four wheelin’ on backcountry mountain roads, but not mountains roads because they’re in the grasslands, jungles, and even RIGHT OUTSIDE THE CITY. We were in a bus, so picture the bumpiness. It was much like a roller coaster. Anyway, the bus ride was about 8ish hours longer than it was supposed to be because our bus broke down in the middle of a random village. It actually didn’t really break down—the air conditioning started to malfunction and Fred began to worry that the battery was going to overheat or something—so we really could’ve gone, but we didn’t…but that’s part of the adventure, right? While we waited in this village, a few little kids came out to see what the commotion was. We began to play with them, singing little songs and dancing. Fairly soon afterwards, though, they multiplied. CHILDREN EVERYWHERE. They appeared out of every little corner and crevice and wanted to hang on to every American limb possible. These kids were so cute. Every little thing brought adorable little smiles to their faces. Singing, dancing, playing soccer, blowing bubbles, giving stickers, anything brought unbridled joy to these little kiddies. Male, female, very young, young, almost our age, shy, loud, funny, playful, boisterous, every type of child was there. It certainly made the hours pass by quicker. In the middle of playing, though, I felt a smatter of raindrops. Thinking nothing of it, we all kept entertaining the kids. Suddenly, the clouds opened up and let everything pour out. It was the most out-of-nowhere rainstorm ever. It’s nearing the end of their rainy season, so it’s humid, muggy, and rainy. Truth be told, it rained at least a little bit each day we were in port, but never for too long. It’s about to get really dry, apparently.

We finally arrived in Senase t 7 A.M. Bleary eyed and sore from sleeping on the bus, a little skeptical of our surroundings, but overall ready to see something really different, we wandered into this new land. The clouds were low to the ground and the air smelled thick, so it felt somewhat dreamlike. Senase is actually much larger than I imagined it was going to be; I figured it would be a few streets and houses, but it’s actually a large town of about 13,000. At least I think that’s the size—somebody in the town told me that, but they had a thick accent, so they may have said something else. Frankly, much of our time in the village was spent sitting around, eating (AMAZING) food, visiting the schoolhouses, giving out the toys and other supplies we collected on the ship, playing with more cute children, and just meeting people. The only really planned thing we did was a drumming and dancing lesson in order to learn a routine that we were to perform for the village elders. Speaking of food, I have to recommend it. If you can handle spicy, try some foufou, red red, fried plantains, and joloff rice. If you can’t handle spicy, don’t eat Ghanaian food. Everything we ate in the village, except an oatmeal-like porridge we had on our final morning, was spicy. If anything else, I will miss the food of this country. Also, I tried Star, a Ghanaian beer, and it was really tasty. We went out to a bar on our last night in the village in the built up area and had a ridiculously fun time. Ghanaians know how to party! Dancing and drinking with them was so fun.

Our final day was especially exciting. After practicing our moves and our beats, we met the village elders. They introduced themselves in English, but then the chief said he was going to speak in the native dialect to us in order to keep with tradition. He told us how welcome we were, how glad they were to have us, and how much they want us to come back and help them more. After our meeting, we suited up in our traditional red, green, and yellow outfits and shook our hips and beat our drums for the elders and other onlookers. I was part of the drum line as bass, which may sound like an easy job, but those drums hurt your hands after a while. I never thought I’d say this, but my palms are sore. While it would’ve been fun to dance, I now have an authentic souvenir (in addition to the amazing memories, of course) to remember the village: a giant djembe drum with my initials engraved into the side. When we finished our performance, we presented a well filter as a gift to the village to help with their water problem. Afterwards, we said our goodbyes. It was difficult leaving the village; the children were especially sad and wanted to take as many pictures as we possibly could. More than that, though, I had never done something quite like this homestay while traveling. Seeing this new kind of life really was eye opening and heart breaking. The lives they lead are rough, but at the end of the day, they are all such happy people. It’s given me a different sense of appreciation, a different sense of poverty, and a lot more. Absolutely worth it, despite minor difficulties getting there (and back—our bus broke down AGAIN, but it was only for like 45 minutes). I want to return to Senase and help out more.

You’d think on my final day I would indulge myself a little bit, but I didn’t. I went to the City of Hope Refuge, an orphanage outside of Tema that focuses on bettering the lives of trafficked children in the Lake Volta region. Lake Volta is the largest man-made lake in the world, and many of the fisheries utilize masters to enslave children whose parents have abandoned them because of their bleak living situation. Kids as young as four years old are working out there, trying to make a living and fend for themselves. Girls as young as twelve are having babies and/or are being sold into sex slavery. HIV is rampant with 40% of the people in the region suffering from the disease. However, like in Senase, and everywhere else in the country, people are happy. We watched a documentary about the area and the orphanage by a group of NYU film students and then toured the facility. The school they built was especially interesting. It literally just opened, so they’re still working out a lot of little kinks, but it’s totally functional in the education sense. They have students of all ages; they’re hoping to get all the kids in the region into school from kindergarten to senior high school in order to prepare them for university level education. I spent most of my time in an elementary school classroom. I walked in just before story time, so I read them a picture book aloud. It seemed fitting with my majors. I then sang songs with them, both American and Ghanaian. My favorite student was Stellasin, a beautiful little girl with an infectious smile. When they broke for lunch, I walked around some more, peeking into the other classes. For just opening up and not having that much stuff, they are doing a pretty amazing job. We all played outside for a little, shooting some hoops on their basketball court and kicking around a soccer ball. I also gave out some stickers and gave piggyback rides. Saying goodbye was even more difficult this time around since I knew it was my last time with Ghanaian children for a while. Stellasin gave me the biggest hug. When we left, we delivered some food to a shelter that some other people made while we were at the orphanage. It took a while, but we got to hang out with more kids.

So, Ghana. What a place. With all this positive, I have to put it into context for a moment and talk about something difficult. You may have noticed an emphasis on the children. There were adults. Lots of them. Children, though, are the heart of any country, and these kids are amazing. They have so little, but are so happy and friendly and welcoming. Why are there so many kids, though? Well, the unfortunate reality is that the life expectancy is 62 years old. It’s so low for a number of reasons. Poor sanitation practices (we had to drink purified water out of plastic bags, which strangely reminded me of bagged milk we drank in kindergarten), poorly regulated education, and bad health conditions all lead to this reality. In Senase, we were told that the nearest doctor was over an hour and a half away down bumpy dirt roads. At City of Hope, we were told that despite extremely well regulated safe sex education, many people still refuse to wear condoms. HIV is highly stigmatized, so people don’t talk about it and will not get tested. Ignorance really is bliss to them. Through all these problems, we were told that Ghana is an excellent example of a peaceful African government. It’s true, though: they found their independence in 1957 and have remained peaceful since. Even still, it’s hard to rationalize all these problems in my head when I’m now back on the ship with running water. Even harder is thinking of a way to fix it. Perhaps I can’t, but hopefully someday, their poverty will vanish, HIV rates will decrease, and sanitation problems will be a thing of the past.

Waka waka! Ghana, you were amazing!! I want to teach English in a school there. Regardless, I will be back!!! In the meantime, though, onward to South Africa!

Friday, September 9, 2011

You May Be Safe, but I am Free


Until Semester at Sea, I suppose you could say I took land for granted. I mean, when you’re constantly walking, running, skipping, jumping, gallivanting, or otherwise verb-ing on it, you don’t really think about how nice solid ground is underneath your feet. That being said, we spent nearly all of yesterday morning lazing about and refueling the ship off the shores of the capital of the Canary Islands, Las Palmas. A Spanish territory located 100 km west of Morocco, the Canaries are a major tourist destination for many Europeans. When they announced we would be stopping, I had this surge of excitement. When I woke up and looked out the window, I was thrilled to see a city on the water within swimming distance (except nothing is really swimming distance on Semester at Sea—if you fall overboard, you go home). Colorful houses built into hillsides and taller buildings dotted the landscape. Behind the city were even mountains. It was all very calming in a way; the ocean gets boring after a while and land usually doesn’t randomly shift as you are walking on it, unless, of course, there’s an earthquake or something.

We couldn’t leave, though. We couldn’t go out and explore this city and landscape before us. The captain was merely teasing our land-loving souls. I have to thank him, though, because it probably wouldn’t have been enough time; we all would’ve wanted to see more. I suppose that’s what Semester at Sea is trying to do to us students: tease us with little snapshots of each country without giving us the full taste. People had all sorts of different experiences in Morocco than myself—exploring cities like Rabat and Fez, staying in an authentic Berber village, going on a camel trek that didn’t take an entire day to drive to, among others. The sense of adventure is infectious and intoxicating on board.

Last night, I attended a lecture by Adam Braun, SAS alumni and founder of Pencils of Promise, a non-profit devoted to building schoolhouses for children of developing countries. Extremely inspiring, Adam told us his story, how Pencils of Promise came to fruition, how we can make the most out of our time on SAS, and how to keep the lessons we learn from it in our lives following the voyage end. It seems a bit premature to be thinking about the end, but I hope that I can keep the things I’ve already learned alive and fresh when I return to CC. While it’s scary to think that we won’t “fit in” upon our return to America, at least according to Adam, I’m looking forward to more ephemeral experiences that fall under the metaphysical more than anything else. Morocco was a scary and confusing place, but I really enjoyed it. Outside one’s comfort zone is where the magic happens.

My favorite point of Adam’s? You may be safe, but I am free.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Play It Again, Sam

Ah, Morocco. Romantic, isn't it? Sandy beaches, colorful Berbers navigating the desert with their camel companions, and sandstone mountains rising from dry river valleys.

Well, it could be romantic, but of the six countries I've been to this year so far, Morocco has been my least favorite. Okay, six if you include the 45 minute layover in Switzerland, which I do, so I've finally reached a second hand with an overly aggressive, extremely hot, and very disheartening land. That being said, I've really enjoyed my time in the all too often heard of land made famous by the titular film of our port city.



Frankly, what I've been doing here is more important than what I've been doing on the ship, though I have been having a great time and learning a lot from all my new friends and classes. I'll write more on all that later, but for now, MOROCCO!








Six A.M. Friday morning, I awoke in a haze of very little sleep to watch our entry into Casablanca. As I expected, many people were already awake and chattering about on the 7th Deck at the front of the ship. Land was already in sight, including the beautiful Hasan II Mosque. Finally seeing land after several days of blue, blue ocean was refreshing and extremely exciting. Birds were flying above us, other ships were passing by, and the air started to taste less salty. Nerves set in, but they were more exciting than anything else. I didn't even mind how painfully tired I was from the lack of sleep. Speaking of lack of sleep, while it's easy to fall asleep on the ship, half the time I don't want to so I can keep hanging out with people. Anyway, the entire approach to land took longer than we all thought it would, so I didn't stay out all the way to the end, which I'm fine with; there's plenty more countries to stay outside all the way to port for. After enjoying the entry, I grabbed some breakfast, changed, and listened to the diplomatic briefing. Once that was finished, I hopped on the bus to head into the city. 
New friends :) Ali, me, Nikki, Nick, Ryan




To be honest, Casablanca smells rather putrid. Somebody described it as "dead fish covered in urine," and unfortunately, I'd have to agree. Why they chose it as our port is sort of beyond me, but I suppose we have to start somewhere—the culture shock and discomfort is only going to get more difficult as we go on. We toured around the city, stepping off the bus from time to time to explore the markets, alleyways, and other areas. Some parts did smell better than others, specifically the areas with food, but overall, it wasn't very pleasant on the nostrils. The best part of our tour was when we visited the Hasan II Mosque. With the largest religious minaret in the world, it's wickedly tall. I believe it took somewhere around six years to build the whole thing, and it is enormous. It almost feels like a compound. Just the outside is beautiful and astounding, but the inside is beyond words. The detail in the architecture is mesmerizing; truthfully, I could spend an entire day just staring at the windows, walls, and little crevices and corners. Below the main level of the mosque were a bunch of fountains. In order to pray in a mosque, you have to be clean—washed hands, face, and fresh clothing. Islam is super interesting, especially in terms of its traditions, and going to the mosque only broadened my interest in the religion. On a related note, Islam is a beautiful religion. The devotion to Allah, prayer, and tradition is like nothing I've ever experienced. At its core, it's a very peaceful and harmonious religion—I'm truly appalled by the ignorance of Islamophobia now. Muslim people are quite welcoming and understanding.






After our city orientation came to a close, it was time to take the train to Marakkech. I ventured over there with my friends Ali, Nikki, Kevin, Farrah, Jimmy, Julie, and Veronica, so it we had to split our cabs. The Moroccan countryside is a lot different than I expected; it's not all sandy and desert-y, though that does certainly make up a portion of it. I spent most of the ride either sleeping, reading, writing, looking out the window, or talking with my friends. Actually, I spent the entire ride doing that, because there wasn't much else to do. Upon reaching the city, we took a cab to our hotel. Funny thing about cabs in Morocco: many of them don't have meters, so you have to bargain the price down usually [sidenote: it isn't funny at all; it's annoying and frustrating and cab drivers are usually rude men]. We found two cabs and made our way to the main square. SO MANY PEOPLE. EVERYWHERE. And it doesn't make things easier that it's crowded, people are shouting at you to buy their crappy stuff, and there's a new smell or thing to see every five feet. That being said, it's totally unlike anything I've ever experienced. After being guided through a winding narrow alleyway, fearing we were going to be kidnapped in the style of Taken, we found our hotel. The entrance didn't look like anything spectacular, but there was a really pretty courtyard and rooftop terrace, the top of which looked out over the entire square. Almost immediately upon wondering up there, the call to prayer rang out over the city. Like I mentioned before, I'm fascinated by Islam, but this really amazed me. Actually hearing their devotion to Allah and seeing them move towards the mosques in the city and bow and pray was truly a beautiful moment. We were all completely taken aback by it. We then explored the square for a while, trying our hand out at bargaining. If you've been carefully following my blog, you may have remembered a simpler time when I was in an English-speaking country trying to bargain. I was good at it. Well, things are a little different here. People can tell I'm an American (have you seen my skin tone?), so they all latch to me, knowing full well that we have a language barrier. They speak mostly Arabic and French here, but I did find a few Spanish speakers, which closed the gap a little. Plus, my signature goofball smile was plastered all over my face, screaming "I'M AN AMERICAN, I HAVE MY MONEY, I WILL BUY YOUR SHIT." I bought traditional Moroccan shirt and pants for too much and a crappy fez cap for too much. I don't even want to talk about money except that in Ghana I won't be spending much money at all since I'll be doing a homestay and service project.


Ali, me, Nikki, Farrah, Veronica, Jimmy, Kevin, Julie
The next morning, we woke up early to meet up with our camel trek group. Everybody was under the impression that Zagora, the city our trek was leaving from, was only a few hours away. It turns out we had to wind through the (gorgeous!) Atlas Mountains and the sandy Sahara Desert for 14 HOURS. Some girls on another bus were really freaking out and calling Semester at Sea and the U.S. Consulate because they thought we were being captured. We were about 30 miles away from Algeria. The length of the drive had a lot to do with that we had so many people (~100) on the trek and we took quite a few stops for lunch, the bathroom, and stretches. I was on a small van, though, so I got some extra space for my legs. I only really started to go stir crazy by the end. Upon arrival, there were more camels than I had ever seen before in my life, which isn't very many, but still, there were a lot of camels. They were in groups of five, each led by a Berber man, so I grabbed one towards the middle. I named him John Humperdink, or Johnny Humps, for short. He wasn't ornery at all, but some of the camels were real SOB's, shrieking at every movement. Have you ever heard a camel shriek? It's pretty awful. The ride was relatively short, only about 45 minutes over a large hill. It was strikingly beautiful to ride around at night under the stars. My horseback riding background helped me out a bit, but it's a different feeling having a large hump and bone right there. The boys downstairs are still hurting. Our campsite was not what I expected. The tents were big enough to fit 10 or so people. The pillows were rock hard, though, but it barely mattered; you can't really complain when the world is at your fingertips. The night was spent eating tagine and bread, listening to the Berbers drum and sing and share stories, sitting by the fire, and watch the night sky lit up with the twinkling of millions of stars, many of which were shooting across the sky. As far the Berbers go, they are some of the friendliest people I have ever met. Their lives are pretty bare bones, consisting of nomadic desert living with very few possessions, the most important being their camel. However, this allows them to grow close to the earth and not rely so much on materialism and pop culture.






We trekked back and made our return to Casablanca the next morning. We spent about 25 hours driving, which in American terms is about the distance from Colorado to the East Coast. I honestly didn't mind because I feel like I got to see the entire country, which is about the size of France. This morning has spent walking around and taking advantage of free Wifi in a McDonald's.

So, what did I learn from Morocco?
  • The country itself is more cosmopolitan and progressive than you'd think. It's a crossroads of France, Spain, Portugal, Western Africa, and the Middle East, so the culture is fairly eclectic. Not as many women were wrapped in hijab than I would've guessed, but some were completely covered. That being said, the men still are in charge.
  • I'm not really a fan of their food. It consists mostly of tagine, bread, lamb, and chicken, all of which is pretty bland. I was hoping for a more Mediterranean flavor, but that's not the case. And sorry to be vulgar, but it's not very friendly on my gastrointestinal system—it doesn't come out in one piece, if you know what I mean. Mint tea is delicious, though.
  • It's important to be aggressive. People will rip you off, yell at you, heckle you, and even punch you if you don't look like you know what you're doing or appear less confident. Though I have pretty thick skin, I'm too trusting of people, which is a problem when people are in it for money.
  • The Berbers and Muslims of this country have the most fascinating cultures. Westernized news media coverage and bias of the "backwards Muslim jihad" is ridiculously unfair. Along the same lines, Evangelical Christianity could learn a thing or two from the accepting nature of Islam.
  • Some people are not cut out for Semester at Sea. A number of folks are going home already. Good for them for knowing that they aren't ready for something like this—I really respect that.
  • I have a lot more to learn. I can't wait for what's to come.
Finally, a thought on writing. In order to feel inspired, one must rip themselves away from the familiar and get yourself away from your comfort zone. Since Morocco is so unlike everywhere I have been, I've been feeling extremely overwhelmed with inspiration. Here's a poem from the train to Marakkech:

In a clandestine Moroccan dream
I foresaw a sandy butte
Standing amongst the pine groves.
The Berbers kindly waved
While I passed on freight.
Their veiled faces a cloudy figure
In the land of barren earth
Fed only by sun and moon.
A romantic oasis of lamb kebab
And herb-infused pita,
My Moroccan dream ignites
A wandering old soul within my young bones.
Perhaps this land was kind to
The right person with seaside hopes
Of regal Rabat or the novel Casablanca,
Maybe even arid Marakkech.
But I, I long for the snowy Rockies
Of a familiar home
Many fortnights away.
In a clandestine Moroccan dream
A thirst was sequestered
And sustained
As twilight approached.

I miss home more than I expected, but man, oh man, I'm loving life right now. One week until Ghana!!!!

P.S. Yes, the title is a reference to Casablanca and Rick's CafĂ©. I didn't find the original, but there are something around eight replicas throughout the city.

Not actually the one and only