tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69767440463823677322024-02-19T08:49:09.026-08:00London Calling Sam At SeaMy name is Sam. I'm a junior majoring in Drama and English Literature at Colorado College. I spent the spring of 2011 studying in London and traipsing around Spain. This is a map of my second big journey of 2011: literally circumnavigating the globe in 111 days. St. Augustine said, "The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page." I hope to make it beyond page one.
To get in touch with me directly, e-mail me at srfaktorow@semesteratsea.net.London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-59766863630474108432012-01-08T20:56:00.000-08:002012-01-08T20:57:40.079-08:00The Five Stages of Grief<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">According to Swiss-American psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, as we are dying or when we have suffered an enormous catastrophic loss or trauma, we experience five distinct stages of grief. These are the Five Stages of Grief:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Denial</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many mornings I wake up and think that I will be back on the MV Explorer and sailing to another foreign land by the end of the day. I keep thinking that this just another port, albeit much longer than all of the others and with much more downtime. I imagine myself running back to the port, worried about making it before on-ship time so I don't have to deal with the dreaded Dock Time. I have tricked myself more than once that I'll be in a new country next week for a few days before retreating back to my floating home. I have trouble believing that just as quickly as the 111 days began, they ended. There seems to always be something outside that reminds me of a place I saw, a person I met, or an experience I had,<b> keeping me in this perpetual state of thinking I am still a student on Semester at Sea.</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Anger</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I really don't like a lot of what I see in America on a daily basis. I detest our obsession with popular culture; I don't care about Beyonce's baby. I despise our paranoia. TSA Employee, do you really think that the 3-year old who can barely create a coherent sentence is going to blow the airport to smithereens? Frankly, our American culture seriously lacks in the same kind of depth as many of the places I visited. Sometimes I wish I spent less time sleeping or in my room or doing nothing on the ship, or that I chose to do something differently in one country or another. I'm absolutely broke and it sucks. Some of the questions people have asked me about my experience at sea have been absolutely idiotic. I can't drink alcohol (legally), I can't go to bars, I can only go to clubs on certain nights, the city I go to school in seriously lacks in cultural and economic opportunity, <b>my list of grievances could go on, and I know that if I were still on the ship, these problems and annoyances would only exist in the very back of my mind.</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Bargaining</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I would give to be back, to have another buffet plate of countries to visit and experience. There isn't much holding me back from selling all my stuff and going on another adventure aboard the MV Explorer, or entirely independently. I'd gladly trade one of my final three semesters of college for another one at sea. More than anything, though, is that <b>I wish the dreams I have been having while both awake and asleep could become actual realities, that they could be moments I recall fondly rather than mere imaginings in my head each night; I would give up my misty-eyed daydreams for 111 more days.</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Depression</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm bored a lot of the time. I tend to get sad when I'm bored, thus leaving me to nostalgically ponder the life I used to live. I miss the sublime sunsets over the ocean. I miss the excitement of pulling into some new port every week. I miss the lifestyle of Semester at Sea (because it really was a lifestyle). I miss that feeling of lostness I would get every morning when I would look out my window and wonder where I was in the context of the greater world. I miss the distinctness of each ocean and sea we would sail through, something I truly did not expect when I signed up for the program. I miss the booming chorus of beating ocean waves every night as the ship would rock me to sleep. I miss the world. More than anything else, though, are my friends. I miss the friends I made on the ship and in the country. I've said this before, but I feel it needs to be said again: <b>my friends I made while on Semester at Sea, quite literally, mean the world to me. It's proving to be difficult moving on with my life without them at my side.</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Acceptance</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I first applied for Semester at Sea in January of last year, I knew that at some point it would have to end. That's the nature of life. Everything comes to an eventual end. Between Honduras and Florida, nobody really knew what to do, and everyone dealt with the upcoming shock in their own way. Since then, everyone has dealt with returning to America in different ways. One thing most of us have held in common, though, is wondering whether or not SAS was a dream. Did it actually happen? Did we actually sail 29,052.5 nautical miles around the world in 111 days? Did we visit that many countries in that short amount of time? The answer? Yes, yes we did. How glorious it was to wake up in a different country each time we sailed into a new port. Digging deep into the culture of so many unique places allowed us the chance to really understand much more of the world than a lot of other people our age do. I'm so thankful that I got to have this experience. It was the time of my life, and I know, deep down in the furthest chamber of my heart that if I were to sail again, it just wouldn't be the same experience. After unpacking all my new clothes, magnets, trinkets, and gifts, I realized that none of those are what made Semester at Sea special to me. <b>What really made Semester at Sea so special to me, or at least one of the things, were the delicate moments I had both on and off the ship in which I felt like I was part of something greater than myself, like the world had something to tell me. And it did. Oh, how it did.</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These are the Five Stages of Grief. As denial proves to be unrealistic, anger too hard to maintain, bargaining too foolish, and depression too sterilizing to matters of the present, I feel myself moving closer and closer to acceptance. Semester at Sea happened, and it was incredible. Thanks to everyone involved.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Class tomorrow. Colorado College tomorrow. Life, as they say, goes on.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.” </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Hermann Hesse</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhscOWhQtr4KcrB3lpOUNxjsl-EYMETcvI77vkmUnQox320Rg7_jSsL17Uj5hHK-Y5t-7J7d5AY2PYBeo85Pltn8taU_32cSWhWjCvJn77cXOnhOUrVcy5YDSL_MdKyWrfHUxqiYXFjJBQ/s1600/DSC02157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhscOWhQtr4KcrB3lpOUNxjsl-EYMETcvI77vkmUnQox320Rg7_jSsL17Uj5hHK-Y5t-7J7d5AY2PYBeo85Pltn8taU_32cSWhWjCvJn77cXOnhOUrVcy5YDSL_MdKyWrfHUxqiYXFjJBQ/s320/DSC02157.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sunrise over Ft. Lauderdale on the final morning.</td></tr>
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</span></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-69775486089488136462011-12-16T18:02:00.000-08:002011-12-16T18:02:27.812-08:00The Last Days On the MV Explorer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Oh, America. Home of the free, land of the brave. The Fall 2011 Voyage of Semester of Sea, the 107<sup>th</sup> journey of the Institute for Shipboard Education’s premier study abroad program, has come to a close in the Sunshine State of Florida. The days between leaving Honduras and now have been filled with literally every single emotion possible; there’s been excitement, anxiety, fear, joy, sadness, resentment, frustration, boredom, lethargy, and, most importantly, overwhelming gratitude. It’s weird being back, and it’s even weirder thinking that the life I came to know and love so well has abruptly come to its end. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The day after Honduras saw the beginning of the packing process. While I came with what seemed like an enormous amount of stuff, I left with even more. My bags were packed with clothes, flags, trinkets, my yoga mat, souvenirs, gifts, basically a whole slew of things I didn’t come to the voyage with. Most importantly, perhaps, were the lessons I tucked away into my bags, stuffed neatly between the postcards and magnets that have been hanging from my wall. I packed away my new found confidence, relationships, and views on this amazing world of ours. It’s hard to classify the whole experience, what it has meant, and how I’m going to let it influence my future. That being said, I can say one thing for sure: this world of ours is so incredibly beautiful that 111 days exploring it hardly gives it justice. My awareness has moved away from local and has gone global, as I’m now more interested in how things affect each other throughout the entire world. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, what exactly happened besides packing? On that second to last day on the ship, a reentry panel was held for people interested in discussing reverse culture shock and the process of coming down from our experiences abroad and coming back to our lives away from the MV Explorer. While their words were helpful, they reminded me that what lies ahead will not be easy. It made me remember how I felt when I returned from Europe in the spring and how utterly lost I felt at first, how America seemed so different and weird. It took a while to readjust, and the discussion made me realize that readjusting back from Semester at Sea will, very likely, take much longer. Faculty member Wendy Goldberg spoke on the panel about the topsy-turvy feeling we will experience. She drew upon Alice in Wonderland for a number of interesting and rateable metaphors about the nature of dropping into all these new places and then coming back to something we recall with familiarity and fondness. I have to say, after falling through the rabbit hole and seeing all that Wonderland has to offer, pulling myself back out is proving to be an interesting experience.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I ate dinner with Jackie and Kat, my shipboard extended family. At the beginning of the semester, I signed up for an extended family, thinking I would be placed into a large family with two lifelong learners as parents and a bunch of other students as siblings. Instead, I received a mom and a sister. Frankly, after having had dinner many different times throughout the entire semester, I am glad it ended up working out exactly the opposite of how I expected it to. We were able to discuss more personal experiences in the countries and on the ship that wouldn’t have been able to have been shared had my family been upwards of ten people. I’m grateful for having such a loving, tight-knit family on the ship that I knew I could always count on. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That night, the Acting 1 and History of Musical Theatre classes performed their final scenes and student-written musical, respectively. Acting 1’s students explored a number of different self-written monologues, scenes from various plays , and South African opera songs. Admittedly, some were better than others, but overall, they did a great job and kept everyone entertained, despite some technical difficulties regarding the spotty sound system of the Union on the ship. Following that, SAS: The Musical was performed! The History of Musical Theatre class has been working all semester on writing and putting on an original musical. The story was essentially about life on the MV Explorer and the two forbidden relationships between a student and a crew member and the dean and a lifelong learner. Though cheesy, it was hilarious and enjoyable, with many of the jokes only really making sense to those on the ship. That reminded me, though, of how special our community became over the whole voyage. We have so many characters and personalities that it’s no surprise to me that so many jokes sprung out of the people on board. Following the performances, the final Coffeehouse was held. I, of course, spoke, sharing some more of my writing. If the musical reminded me of the personalities and jokes, the Coffeehouse reminded me of the sheer sublime talent of many of the different people I have come to know and love. It’s been a real privilege being in their company and sharing all of our work with one another. It has only solidified my desire to continue writing and creating.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The final day came. The ship was awash in weird emotions; people seemed to be wandering the hallways aimlessly as we enjoyed our last moments on our floating home. Upon finishing packing, my room was empty, further adding to the bizarre feelings of the last day. When everyone was done moving their baggage to the designated location on the ship and collecting their passports and yellow fever vaccination cards, we had some downtime. I ate my final dinner outside on the 6<sup>th</sup> Deck, watching the sunset for a final time over the endless ocean. I’ve been lucky enough to see so many amazing sunrises and sunsets throughout this semester. How am I supposed to recreate the sunrise over Cape Town while we approached South Africa or as I slowly moved through the entry portal into Angkor Wat in Cambodia? What about the explosion of red, purple, orange, and blue as the sun dipped into the ocean each night from the back of the ship or over the Arabian Sea in Kerala, India? The beauty I have witnessed is indescribable, humbling, and, quite simply, awesome. There’s still so much left for me to see around the world that this voyage has not quenched a thirst, but rather has only set me on fire with more questions, desire, and hopes for truth, understanding, and exploration. Following dinner, I went to Linda’s 22<sup>nd</sup> surprise birthday party, hosted by Jake in one of the classrooms. Many of my good friends were there, so it was a happy celebration of not only her birthday, but the semester as a whole. The night officially ended with convocation, a recognition of the whole four months and those lucky graduating seniors.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then night unofficially never ended. I stayed awake all night, hopping between all the groups of friends I have become a part of—I never fell into one single clique, which I am thoroughly happy about. I spent time with Lou, Diana, Causey, Natasa, Valleria, Mike, Brad, Ali, Jake, Linda, Nick, Johnny, and plenty more. The last crew I hung out with ended up being Lily, Mary, Cristina, and Lauren; apparently, Abby, Alden, Ricky, Kevin, and I think some others were with them, too, but they disappeared to bed. Mary and I ended up staying fully awake the longest. When the time came for breakfast, we moved upstairs to eat. As we sat in dining room on the 5<sup>th</sup> floor, the lights of America started to become visible. Miami and Ft. Lauderdale twinkled in the distance. When we finished eating, we went to the front of the ship and experienced our first moments back in America. I had made a sign then night before that I held up and took pictures with: 29,052.5 nautical miles. Can you believe it? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It started to rain at one point. We migrated inside so we could avoid the moisture. However, when we moved to the back of the ship to see the parents as we made our final movements into the port, the sun began to shine through the clouds. In this moment, I was reminded that even in times of darkness, such as leaving behind the life you love, there is always a light to guide you back through to the other side. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then it came time to really say goodbye. I raced about the ship, giving my final hugs, saying my final words to people, and shedding some tears in the process. I was one of the earlier groups to disembark, so I didn’t have as much time as others. When it was finally my turn, I grabbed my backpack, slung my Ghanaian drum over my shoulder, and walked out onto the gangway for the last time. As John, Luke, Whit, Ionna, and I slid our cards one final time, we said farewell to the MV Explorer and the lifestyle that is Semester at Sea. I greeted my parents with loving hugs and a statement of how overwhelmingly thankful I am to them for this eye-opening life experience. We drove away, me in the backseat slowly attempting to rationalize the finality of the program. I haven’t gotten there quite yet, as I keep feeling like I’ll be walking back up the gangway to my room tomorrow, but eventually I’ll get there. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How did I celebrate? Lunch with my parents at Chik Fil A and dinner at California Pizza Kitchen. Reverse culture shock, much? The next few days were spent in Naples, Florida, home of nothing but elderly people. I spent almost the entire time catching up on TV shows and sleeping. The frustration of being home hasn’t fully hit me yet as I am not quite home in my own house in my own bed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Where am I this weekend? Having a unique intellectual adventure at COLORADO COLLEGE. I’ll write something more sentimental later, but know this: Semester at Sea changed my life, and my friends from the program, quite literally, mean the world to me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh, ocean blue, I miss you terribly. You will always be a part of me.<o:p></o:p></div></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-48301491172153354762011-12-12T12:36:00.001-08:002011-12-12T12:36:01.412-08:00Roatán, or Winter Break Part One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>826</o:Words> <o:Characters>4712</o:Characters> <o:Lines>39</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>9</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>5786</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Roatán, Honduras—a small island off the coast of Central America in the Caribbean. Pleasant, right? For what it’s worth, it certainly was relaxing, or as relaxing as a two day port where about a day and a half of it was raining. Not just sprinkling, either. It was stormy, to say the least. Well, weather the wheater (ha) was good or bad, it was still a relaxing final port, free of worry from academic affairs on the ship having now completed finals, projects, programs, and papers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our final port has been up in the air since I applied for SAS. A big selling point for this particular semester was the possibility of docking in Havana, Cuba for three days. The itinerary said we would only be going if we received confirmation from the US State Department. Didn’t happen. Thanks, non-students on board (because student visas for Cuba are much easier to obtain than other forms). I was really looking forward to a cigar. The next plan of action, as described to us on the day of the Sea Olympics: Santo Tomas de Castilla, Guatemala. Mayan ruins sounded exciting, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that Cuba didn’t work out. Then, during the Pacific Ocean crossing, we awoke one morning to an announcement from the Voice aka Dean Laurie that increasing drug-related violence in eastern Central America, particularly in Guatemala, Belize, Mexic, and, oddly enough, Honduras, were a source of concern for ISE, the State Department, and OSAC, so we were going to have to be rerouted again to Roatán, a tourist destination off the coast, away from all the violence. Run-on sentence? I think. And would you believe it? I saw Mayan ruins and artifacts and smoked a cigar. Okay, I didn’t actually smoke a cigar, though some people did. I was only planning on doing that if we went to Cuba. Okay, background information aside, let’s talk about two days in rainy Roatán.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I awoke to watch the entry into port with Valleria. It was cloudy, so we weren’t able to see much. I went back to bed, only to be interrupted at 7:20 A.M. with an announcement that we could get off the ship 40 minutes earlier than expected. I was signed up for a trip, though, so I didn’t take advatnage. When the time came, I stepped off into the Port of Roatán in Coxen Hole. Ali, Jake, Linda, Nick, Ionna, Rachael, Dina, and a handful of others and I were on an orphanage visit that was combined with an underwater museum snorkeling adventure. Great combo, right? Save the world a little bit and then swim around in the silver-blue Caribbean water while looking at ancient Mayan artifacts and treasures? Let’s do it! The most special part of it to me was that Ali, Ionna, and I were together on the first trip we went on in Morocco and now the last one in Honduras. Great little circle completion, right? Anyway, the kids were fun, but there weren’t that many since most of them were with grandparents for the holidays. We mostly played soccer and blew bubbles and drew on the sidewalk with chalk with them. As far as the snorkeling went, the water was perfect temperature and we got to see quite a bit of coral. The Mesoamerican Reef in the Caribbean is the second largest coral reef in the world, following the Great Barrier Reef in Australia, so underwater was all sorts of red, green, purple, green, yellow, and more. There were a ton of fish, too. We hung out on the beach afterwards and had delicious pizza and some beer. Preparation for America?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we done snorkeling, the weather turned. It started to rain. A lot. Outdoor activities weren’t really an option anymore. Ali, Ionna, Nick, and I decided to get food. We walked into Coxen Hole and ate conch soup and some kind of delicious tortilla with meat and beans at a local restaurant. It was fantastic. We took a taxi after that to a place called Bananarama in West Bay. There were a ton of SAS folks drinking and having a good time. The rest of the day was spent between there, back at the ship for dinner and a shower, and in West End bar hopping. The roads weren’t in the best condition, so everything was wet and muddy, but nobody seemed to care; it was an excellent last night out with my friends being able to legally drink. Bars, clubs, lounges, and liquor stores, see you in five months!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The second day was raining even harder, so we couldn’t do much once again. Ali, Nick, Sara, and I had lunch at a Mexican place in the port. Speaking of the port, it was similar to Cape Town in that it was commercial, but it was not anywhere near as upscale. When we left, we ventured back into Coxen Hole to walk around in the pouring rain. We each bought a few souvenirs throughout town. As the day came to a close, the Barcelona vs. Real Madrid futbol match began, so we sat and watched the first half hour of it—it was 1-1 when we left.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As our journey is spindling away to its bittersweet end, I wanted my last experience in port to be special. So, I celebrated by jumping into the 7<sup>th</sup> Deck pool with Gina and Bailey in the rain. We swam some laps and tread some water as the rain poured down onto our faces. I was reminded of the beautiful things and people I have met on my journey about the world, but I’ll cover that once I’m back in America. For now, I will close my last international blog post by saying that while Honduras may have been wet and slightly chilly, I am glad it was our final port experience. I got to relax, swim in warm water, spend time with some of my favorite people on the ship, and think about what this voyage has meant to me. I may not have been able to go to Cuba or Guatemala, so I’ll just have to return to them later!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">America tomorrow. Still need to finish packing. I have more to put in than when I left, but somehow, someway, it will fit.</div><!--EndFragment--></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-49362735921645746612011-12-07T17:56:00.000-08:002011-12-07T17:56:45.345-08:00Pura Vida en Costa Rica<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>1030</o:Words> <o:Characters>5876</o:Characters> <o:Lines>48</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>11</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>7216</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Let me just start off by saying two days in Costa Rica is not nearly enough. With less than 48 hours in the country, every moment was precious. That being said, Costa Rica was probably my most relaxing port. I had quite a bit of down time to just hang out and watch the scenery go by.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The day before Costa Rica, I had my first final: Global Studies. I got an 85. And that was with minimal studying.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My first day started with a zipline adventure through the forest canopy. It was a Semester at Sea trip, so there were a great deal of people, but a lot of my friends were on it, so I was in great company. After taking a short bus ride to Parque Aventura, we suited up and hiked up a small hill to the first station. They demonstrated how to properly zoom down the line and brake. When it came to be my turn, I hit the brakes too soon and had to monkey crawl the final portion of the line. Embarrassing. Thankfully, a few other people ran into the same predicament, saving me from being alone in looking like a chimp. I’ve ziplined before, but this particular adventure was really exciting; we had to zip from station to station and cover a whole lot of ground. One portion of the park was nothing but jumping from box to box, allowing us to keep our harness on and not hike to get to the next station. The longest line in the park took us over a huge river valley—falling would’ve surely been fatal. You got going pretty fast, and to brake you had to grab the actual line, so gloves were required. No gloves? Wave goodbye to your skin! Was that a pun? The trip ended with a journey up a huge hill on the back of a truck. Excellent morning.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That afternoon, I took the free SAS shuttle service from our port in Puerto Caldera to Puntarenas, the nearest city with Shelbi and Liz. When we arrived, we didn’t really do much. Puntarenas wasn’t exactly designed with the tourist in mind, but we weren’t really looking to do very much anyway. Our day was spent walking around, looking at the trinkets in the street-side shops, using free internet, drinking delicious piña coladas, and sitting on the beach. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We spent the evening with a bunch of other SAS kids that we met up with at the bus stop. After enjoying a delicious dinner of ceviche at a local restaurant, we wandered to a locals bar with awesome salsa dancing. We took the place by storm! Though we weren’t really good, our hips got a workout. Later, Savannah, Susie, and I ended up at another club in a different part of the city. It was sort of strange because very, very few people were dancing; everybody was standing up above on the second floor. Many people were alone. It wasn’t the most welcoming environment, but we did meet a few cool local folks. I had delicious street food, too, so it wasn’t bust in the slightest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Annoying thing: the Costsa Rican currency, the colón, just changed. No, it didn’t change names or exchange rates or anything of that sort. It changed design. The new money is very nice and colorful, I will admit, but I came to the country with somewhere around $40 in the old money that I got from a bank in Canada back in August. It changed in September. Nobody takes the old money. It’s obsolete. It’s basically Monopoly<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Money. I figured I would go to the bank on our second morning, a Monday, to exchange the old currency for the new. When I walked into the bank, they said the only way I could exchange the notes would be to go to the Central Bank…in San José, the capital, a solid two hours away. Normally, I’d be okay with that, but with very little time in the country and a less reliable transportation system, I had to accept defeat. I still have the red play money in my wallet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While eating breakfast at a restaurant in Puntarenas the second morning with Shelbi, Liz, and Johnny, we saw Hayley who invited us to a waterfall tour with her, Kevin, other Kevin, Susie, and some other folks. After finding out we probably wouldn’t make it to the waterfall in time, we almost called it quits on plans for the day. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a tricked out tour bus came around the corner while blaring its horn and playing local marimba music. On the spur of the moment, Hayley and I hopped on, paid the fee, and enjoyed an adventure around the entire city by bus! We made two stops on the way: a fish market and a church. Though the history of Puntarenas isn’t that impressive compared to some of the other places I went to this semester, it was a pleasant afternoon ride. Our guide, Jenny, was a beautiful Costa Rican woman. She let us play the marimba at the end! She also gave us a shot of Costa Rican liquor while on the ride. For $15, the trip was well worth the money. The rest of the day was the same as the day before—walking around, drinking more deliciosu piña coladas, and eating some incredibly tasty gallo pinto. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Pura vida” means “pure life,” the unofficial motto of Costa Rica. Many of the people I encountered in Costa Rica were some of the most laid back people I have met on this voyage. The lifestyle there is slow and steady, a nice change from the go-go-go of many Asian cultures. It really seems like a great way to live.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yesterday I had my second final: World Theatre and Performance. I think it went well. I also helped host the Ping Pong Championships with Dave Eng. The winner ended up being Michael Williams, my professor. He better give me an A.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today was a particularly special day on the voyage—we passed through the Panama Canal. Now, I’m no builder or architect, but the Panama Canal is an engineering masterpiece. A series of locks takes ships from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean in a matter of hours. The alternative, traversing Cape Horn, would tack on an additional month and several thousand nautical miles. I wouldn’t have complained. The process of going through the locks was really, really interesting. Along the way, the elevation changed, so the canal would rise and fall along the way as the water filled the lanes. It was busy the whole filled, with many other boats, most of them being cargo. We had a barbecue lunch to celebrate, but it was moved inside because of rainy weather. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I am typing this, we’re still passing by city lights. Soon, we’ll be in the Atlantic Ocean, exactly where we started. We are back in the Eastern Time Zone, so we have literally gone around the world. Before going home, though, we have to go back to Central Time Zone for our final port—Honduras! Cuba and Guatemala may not have worked out, but Honduras will be a ton of fun, too, I’m sure. The journey isn’t over yet. It doesn’t feel like we’ve done the actual circumnavigation quite yet, but we have. We have changed, but can’t quite explain how. Who knows when we will be able to? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, for now, I will sit back and enjoy Christmas Carols and a cup of hot chocolate in the Piano Lounge while I procrastinate on writing my final essay for Gender and Society and reading for my final in Writing Back to the Empire, both of which are tomorrow. After that, it’s two days in Honduras, two days at sea, and then Florida. It’s all very surreal.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.<o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment--></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-8971170201538453242011-11-30T13:14:00.003-08:002011-11-30T13:14:42.472-08:00Mahalo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Well, aloha. Hawai’i is in America. Who would’ve thought, right? A one day break from foreign countries towards the end of the voyage is a droll reminder of what awaits in less than two weeks at this point. I’ve always wanted to use the word droll. Plus one to the vocabulary. You’re welcome, future BA in English.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Like in Honolulu, we had cell reception, so a lot of people flocked straight to their phones and called and texted their entire contact list. If you sat in the Dining Room, it was loud, but not because people were talking to each other; rather, they were chatting on the phone with their mom, dad, boyfriend, girlfriend, or whatever person is patiently waiting for them back in Mainland America. It was interesting to see this side of people that we have avoided the entire voyage.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No visit to America would be complete without an experience in the corporate world, and for many SASers, that came in the form of Wal-Mart. My first stop, along with what seemed like at least half the ship, was the very symbol of corporate American greed and capitalism. The aisles were teeming with eager students looking for bargain basement prices, none of which even compared to what we experienced in many of the countries we had just been to. That giant $6 box of granola bars would’ve bought me an entire meal in Vietnam. I was also reminded of my age. Being that it was Thanksgiving, I wanted to celebrate with a bottle of champagne. Only problem: I’m 20. Instead of confidently walking up to the check out line like I have around the world, I had to ask someone who has already reached the mythical age of 21 to purchase the alcohol for me. It was an all-too-soon reminder that I’ve still got half a year to go to be of age in my own home country but in most other countries, I’m “mature” enough. That’s a discussion for another time, though. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The rest of the day was spent sightseeing around the Big Island with Lily, Christina, Mary, Ricky, and Lauren. We found a driver who took us from Wal-Mart to the lava fields, a small farmers market, a black sand beach, pools of hot springs, and a local pancake house with enormous American-sized portions, another pleasant reminder of Americanism. The whole day was a fantastic and relaxing Thanksgiving, a nice break from the mountains of papers and tests that seem to have piled up on the ship. I made a few calls as well, mostly to my family. That being said, it served to slowly reintroduce us to where we are headed. With only two weeks to go, I’m beginning to get nervous, anxious, and excited. While it may have sounded like I’ve had the time of my life, and I really truly have, there have been bad parts to this experience. I’ve been homesick. I’ve been seasick. I’ve had cabin fever. I’ve experienced incredible inequality, injustice, poverty, and a whole host of other global maladies and problems. However, I’ve also seen beauty. I’ve fallen in love with traveling. I’ve fallen in love with the world. I’m not one for mixed feelings, but I’m so happy and sad as I write this. Happy to be sad, sad to be happy. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Mahalo” is Hawaiian for “thank you.” Since we were in Hilo, Hawai’i on Thanksgiving, it’s only appropriate I say thank you. This journey around the world has been a dream come true—111 days of floating along the ocean and exploring new lands does not happen to anybody. Yes, we’ve dreamed and floated, but we’ve lived, experienced, breathed, wished, hoped, prayed, examined and reexamined, and had incredibly enriching moments around every other corner. None of this would’ve been possible without the help of many people in my life. I’m here for a number of reasons beyond just my own hard work and desire to travel the world. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am grateful beyond measure to the following:</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The Institute for Shipboard Education, Semester at Sea, and the University of Virginia for presenting the opportunity to experience an incredible paradigm shift and alter my perspective on many aspects of the world and my own life. The execution of the program proved better than the idea.</li>
<li>Colorado College for allowing me to be the first CC student in a number of years to participate in the program for credit. Had my petition for credit been denied, I wouldn’t be sitting here today watching the orange sunset over the endless Pacific Ocean.</li>
<li>Heather Browne in the study abroad office at CC for aiding me through the entire application and petition processes and cheering me on from day one.</li>
<li>Re Evitt, Peggy Berg, Jane Hillberry, and Andrew Manley, my department chairs and advisors for providing recommendations, signing forms, approving classes, and helping me find a purpose for doing SAS beyond the obvious desire to travel.</li>
<li>All my roommates from this past year for dealing with me at some of my most insufferable moments and for providing never ending support.</li>
<li>My dear friends from home, Cheley, CC, and everywhere in between, for the encouragement, love, e-mails, and more.</li>
<li>My sister Anna, for being a source of inspiration and advice since she sailed on the Spring 2008 Voyage.</li>
<li>My mother and father, for giving me the world.</li>
</ul><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, aren’t I just an emotional wasteland? In all seriousness, I’ve had the greatest adventure I probably will ever have, and all of it was made possible with help from other people. Mahalo, y’all! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The adventure doesn’t stop here. Two ports to go and a million and one things left to do on the ship—we’re in the homestretch, folks, and while I’m still alive and in the moment, I can’t wait to be on solid ground in colorful Colorado.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I just wish I could skip finals. The Block Plan never seemed like a better idea until now. Semester system, go crawl in a hole. </div></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-77625353366377822702011-11-23T20:50:00.000-08:002011-11-23T20:53:23.383-08:00I Think I'm Turning Japanese...on the Pacific Ocean<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Double blog post! My Japan blog didn't make it through for some reason, so I've combined that with my Pacific Ocean crossing post. Excuse the length.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been to the future, and it’s name is Japan. We were told that our final port of call in Asia would be ultra hip, ultra fast, and ultra modern. They weren’t lying. I mean, they have vending machines for hot food, buttons to indicate which kind of room you want to check into in hotels and hostels, and toilets with seat warmers and aromatherapy scents. And this is throughout the entire country, not in just the urban areas.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, Japan! Yeah! We were the first voyage to go since the earthquake/nuclear/tsunami disaster, so we weren’t entirely sure to expect. Sure enough, we were docked in Kobe and Yokohama, two cities very far from the problems encountered up north. Over the five days there, I split up my time between traveling with groups, exploring on my own (which is entirely possible in Japan since it is an extremely safe country on the whole), and one single SAS trip on the final day. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, especially considering it is our final long port stay. All we have left is one day in Hawaii, two days in Costa Rica, and two days in our new surprise port of Guatemala. Cuba, unfortunately, did not work out, but at least it has been replaced with another exotic location in Latin America. Japan, for me, was all about figuring out how to put everything I have learned and experienced in all the previous countries into practice.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I started out on day one by getting off the ship with Brooke, Dip, Kate, and Alannah and heading to Nara, the former capital of Japan…from the 8<sup>th</sup> century. Because of its location off the coast of Asia, Japan was able to maintain relative isolation for most of its history and develop an extremely autonomous society. The capital has changed around many times, mostly in response to changing leaders. Anyway, Nara is an extremely old city; it just celebrated its 1,300<sup>th</sup> anniversary a few years ago. The main reason in going there was to see the wild dear roaming about town. Japanese myth points to dear as being holy creatures deserving of respect, so there’s an entire park in Nara called the Nara Dear Park that allows them to roam free. This particular park, though, takes up a very large part of the east (I think) part of town, so dear wander about town at their leisure. It’s not uncommon to see a whole gaggle of them crossing the street in the middle of the afternoon. And we saw that. A whole gaggle of dear crossing the street in the middle of the afternoon. We even got to pet them! They’re so used to seeing humans and being touched by them that they sometimes walk right up to people and bow, indicating their permission for us to play around with them. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Beyond the dear, we toured around in a few temples and museums. Japan has two official religions: Shinto and Buddhism. Shinto is the religion of the living world, while Buddhism is the religion of the afterlife, or at least that’s what we were told. The temples and shrines are abundant throughout the country, and being that Nara was an imperial capital, it certainly was no exception. One of the sites we went to has been named a UNESCO World Heritage Site because of its beauty and importance to Nara. As we were walking back to the train station to return to Kobe, we stopped at a street vendor to try some food. It was delicious. Every meal I had in Japan was delicious, even the cheap food on the street.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I spent the night in Osaka, a much larger city than both Kobe and Nara. All I really did there was walk around and take in the lights. I did go to a few bars, but drinks, like everything else in Japan, are expensive. There’s a price to pay for extreme economic development and success. When I woke up the next morning, I took the train from Osaka and Kyoto, another imperial capital of Japan that is much larger than neighboring Nara. Unlike my time in Nara, I spent my day in Kyoto on my own, so I got to set my own pace. I’d say this day was on the level of my 1<sup>st</sup> day in Vietnam as one of the best days of my whole voyage. I hopped off the train, got situated in the area, and took a cab ride up to the eastern side of the city and visited some temples and shrines. The Japanese love their nature; the park space was abundant and green. I had the most delicious noodle lunch at a local restaurant while sitting with some extremely friendly Japanese school girls. All of the people I encountered were so friendly, almost to a fault. They would go out of their way to help you, even if it meant walking around with you for 20 minutes at a time to find a particular restaurant or site. Throughout the day, I encountered a few SAS students, but being on my own left me to own devices and intuition. The day ended with me coming down from the hills and ancient temples to the more modern part of the city and crossing over a beautiful bridge while noticing the lovely fall colors, a reminder that even though that while on the voyage we may have felt like we were in a constant state of summer heat until China and Japan, the seasons, like ourselves, have continued to change. Profound, aren’t I?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That night certainly turned into an adventure. I returned from Kyoto with a note on my door from Lou. It said that they went into Kobe to buy my bus ticket, but they didn’t have enough money and were in a hurry to make it to Hiroshima, so they couldn’t purchase mine. I had to rush back into the city to buy my ticket from a random unknown station. Once I got it, I had to get back to the ship, pack, and meet up with Lou, Dina, Valleria, Causey, Kyle, and Brooke to start on our adventure on an overnight bus to Tokyo. Problem: Brooke’s ticket was for an earlier bus. Alas. As it were, she had to take that bus without us and wait at the station in Tokyo for us in the morning. We filed onto the bus when it was time and started on our journey. Unfortunately, this bus was not like the bus from Malaysia. No plush. No leather. No reclining all the way back. At least it wasn’t Greyhound quality, though.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Weary and a little smelly, we made it to Tokyo at 7:30 A.M. We met Brooke recharged at a Starbucks, sipping on coffee while listening to Holiday tunes. Christmas still feels far away. When we were ready, we stepped outside and walked around while searching for something to do. Tokyo on a Sunday morning is a little on the quiet side, or at least where we were was, because there weren’t many people outside. We hopped on the subway and took that to the Harajuku district. If you’re a Gwen Stefani fan, you may remember hearing her sing about Harajuku Girls. While they were actually four backup dancers for her, the name was inspired by this weird, WEIRD fashion district in Tokyo. Before we stumbled into it, we explored the Meiji Shrine, a Shinto shrine dedicated to Emperor Meiji and his wife, Empress Shoken. Similar to the shrines I explored in Nara and Kyoto, it was beautifully green and outdoorsy. We were taken around by tour guide sponsored by a non-profit group that teaches Japanese people English for free in exchange for them giving tours. Or something like that. I didn’t listen closely enough. Walking by large barrels of sake and wine, we admired the giant trees all around us. I love that the Japanese love nature. While in the actual shrine, we witnessed many prayer rituals, including ritual cleansing and a marriage. I also bought a charm for good travel. And I got a balloon from a stuffed mascot. It was a fantastic morning.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We went back to the entrance of Harajuku. The district is centered on “Takeshita Street,” which I find hilarious. Back in the day, I praised Camden in London for being an awesome shopping and cultural experience. Harajuku may just be better. EVERYBODY THERE IS SO WEIRD. That being said, everybody has such swagger. Seriously, everyone is so fly, even if they’re wearing knee-high feather boots and a neon yellow tutu with a spandex top and ridiculous eye makeup. I’m more than a little jealous of the Japanese; I felt really unstylish while I was in Harajuku. However, unlike Camden, bargaining is hard to come by, and things are not cheap. While exploring, I ran into Marek, Alden, Brian, Ali, Tess, and a handful of other folks. I ended up getting to meet Alden and Ali’s parents; they were visiting because it was Alden’s birthday. I got hugs! I got parent hugs! Those ought to last me until I get back to America. Mom and Dad, I miss parent hugs! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we finished up exploring Harajuku, we set off to get some sushi from a restaurant in the Shibuya District with a conveyor belt that displayed the food. It took a while to find it; we had to ask for some help. Once we made it, we stuffed our faces full of raw fish. I will say, sushi in Japan is not like sushi in America. It’s more straightforward. And probably healthier. That being said, I still enjoyed it. We then explored around Shibuya for a few hours, admiring all the lights and shops. We ran into Lou, who had split off earlier, and met her friend who is currently studying abroad in Tokyo. He took us out for a fabulous night on the town. I drank a delicious Pimm’s in a British Pub. It made me miss London.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day, I had the chance to tour around Tokyo on my own. No need to worry, fearful family and friends. The city is safer than any city in America. I began the day with an adventure to Roppongi Hills, a shopping mall. I didn’t shop, though. I only went there for Tokyo City View, a 52<sup>nd</sup> story 360 degree observation deck of the whole city. From it, I could see Tokyo Disney, Tokyo Tower, Tokyo Bay, Shibuya, and all of the parks. There was also a second observation deck on the very top, which I decided to explore. The day was a bit hazy, so the view wasn’t as impressive as it could’ve been; they said on a good day you could see Mt. Fuji. With my ticket to the Tokyo City View, I was also admitted entry to the Mori Art Museum. There was an exhibit on the architecture of Japan and Tokyo in the context of post-World War Two. Let me just say that the Japanese are brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Their ideas are beyond our time period, that’s for sure. Building cities upward instead of side-to-side? I think it’s a great idea.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wandered around some more, meeting up with Gabriela, Maria, and Whit at one point. I also enjoyed WiFi at a McDonald’s in the anime district. Again, weird. Again, awesome. I made my way back to Yokohama, our port, by taking the train. Once I got there, the city was sort of dead. I walked around with Causey, Julie, Jessie, and Paula in an attempt to ride a ferris wheel, but I instead got dinner with Jake and Linda. Then it started to rain. I stayed out with Shelbi, Liz, and Yancey, though. Soaked by the end of the night. Great success.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The final day in Japan came much too soon. I spent it with SAS on a field program to Mt. Fuji and Hakone National Park. Long story short, it was a beautiful, cloudy day. We could only see the mountain from the Visitor’s Center and the 5<sup>th</sup> Station. Granted, they were both very high, the latter being at 7,500 feet, but it would’ve been nice to see the all too often scene panorama. At the end of the day, we took a short ride on a lake and up a chairlift. The clouds obstructed my view, but it gave me a chance to think about the past month in Asia. I certainly had a very different experience in the East than in Africa, but both painted a beautiful picture of the world. That picture, though, is not complete. There are three ports left. After that, though, it still won’t be complete. I’ve realized the world is more complex than I previously thought. Just before we left our port, a group of Japanese folks performed a drumming show for us as a goodbye sendoff. Everybody rushed to the port side of the ship to enjoy the performance. What a perfect, perfect end to a beautiful and life-changing month in Asia.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">So, a few observations about Japan, in a nutshell:</div><div class="MsoNormal">They love nature, their religions are relatively secular in outlook, manners are extremely important, toilets are awesome, the railway system is better than the one in America, it’s EXPENSIVE, everything is really cute and/or old, the night life is not particularly impressive, there are many…adult entertainment shops, the language is really pleasant (especially when compared to what we just experienced in China), taxi fares are nonnegotiable, Kyoto is my favorite city, traveling independently is wildly easy, and my expectations were met and exceeded. I’m coming back when I actually have money. </div><!--EndFragment--></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Upon leaving Japan, we entered the Pacific Ocean. Though it may not sound not exciting, especially when considering my descriptions of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, it is worth writing about. Between slaving my life away to the man by writing what seems like a million and one papers (including an 8-10 page monster for my Literature class), I’ve slept a lot and helped plan a few events with Program Board, including the Talent Show, an acoustic Coffeehouse, and a “retro” Karaoke Night. Sleeping has become a regular event on the ship for most people; nobody seems to have a normal Circadian Rhythm anymore, so when someone is sleeping, even if it’s at 2:30 in the afternoon, it isn’t a nap. They are asleep. I slept from 5 P.M. to 9 P.M. the other day and then 5:30 A.M. to Noon. Day and night don’t seem to matter anymore. Constantly changing time zones haven’t helped. We also time traveled and lived the same day twice. No, the MV Explorer didn’t turn into the DeLorean; we just crossed the International Date Line. In the lives of the members of the Fall 2011 Voyage of Semester at Sea, we had two November 19<sup>th</sup>, 2011’s. When I first realized this would be the case, I thought it would just be a funny chance at living the same day twice in different ways. It actually ended up being fairly confusing; all the posters advertising particular events and meetings said “1<sup>st</sup> November 19<sup>th</sup>” and “2<sup>nd</sup> November 19<sup>th</sup>,” and we didn’t have class the second November 19<sup>th</sup>, both of which added to the confusion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On the 2<sup>nd</sup> November 19<sup>th</sup>, the Shipboard Drive sponsored the Auction, an event held each voyage to raise money for ISE Scholarships, including the one I am on as a Work Study student in the Communications Office. A few weeks, auditions were held to pick auctioneers, and I had the chance to try out. Sure enough, I was one of the four picked! Standing up there in front of the entire shipboard community and trying my best to up sell and get rid of each of the items was extremely nerve wracking, but turned out to be ridiculously fun. My fellow auctioneers, Jimmy, Marek, and Duggan, all did a fantastic job, and together we raised over $10,000. One moment that was particularly awkward, though, was when I was selling a week long trip to Honolulu, Hawaii. A girl, who shall remain nameless, bid on it, thinking it would be fun to get in on the excitement of the auction. However, nobody bid on it afterwards, leaving it up to her to buy the trip despite not actually wanting it. She pleaded with me from the audience to not make her pay because she would refuse to anyway, but alas, the rules of the auction applied. Thankfully, the person who bid before her bought the item off her and she only ended up having to pay the difference. Still, as the person selling the item to her, I felt very bad that she didn’t want it. Other than that, the auction was a great time for everyone and a huge success.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This morning, we arrived in Honolulu! Only problem is that we aren’t allowed to get off the ship; we are only here to refuel. Our actual time on land in America will come tomorrow in Hilo on the Big Island on Thanksgiving. It felt strange looking out my window and seeing the American flag waving. It felt strange to speak in perfect English with no uncertainties based on accent or inflection to the immigration officer. It felt strange seeing other people use their phones to call people. It felt even stranger to borrow someone’s phone to do so. It felt strangest sending a text; I feel like I’ve forgotten. I had to think about and remind myself how to move my fingers like that. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wouldn’t say I feel at home, but I do feel home, if that makes any sense. I shouldn’t say that, though, because there are still two ports left after Hawai’I before the actual return to the States. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That feels weird saying. Where did this semester go?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Happy Thanksgiving, readers.</div></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-24498508767698808402011-11-10T23:40:00.000-08:002011-11-10T23:40:12.613-08:00Let's Get Down to Business<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>2261</o:Words> <o:Characters>12888</o:Characters> <o:Lines>107</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>25</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>15827</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Preface: We were warned by the higher ups on the ship that some satellite dish or other high tec mumbo jumbo would interfere with the internet on the ship. As such, posting this became impossible. I’m already in Japan at this point, but that entry will, of course, come at the end of my stay here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Let’s get down to business</div><div class="MsoNormal">To defeat the Huns.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Did they send me daughters</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I asked for sons?</div><div class="MsoNormal">You’re the saddest bunch I ever met,</div><div class="MsoNormal">And you can bet that when we’re through,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mister, I’ll, make a man out of you!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wish I could say I wrote that masterpiece, but alas, that was Disney. The Huns never actually were in China; they were a Germanic tribe like the Anglos and the Goths. Disney most likely meant the Mongols, but the Huns works better with the tune. I won’t question it, and you shouldn’t either. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">China. You may have heard of it. There’s a wall there. I hiked on it. It’s big. Actually, it’s GREAT. China itself, though, is both great and not-so-great. Here’s the story of six days in the world’s most populous country. Like my South Africa entry, I’ll be splitting this up into specific sections, this time being the cities rather than the days.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">City one: Hong Kong! It’s like China-lite. By that, I mean it’s clean, capitalist, and ultra-modern. The Chinese like to say that it’s “two systems, one country,” as in Hong Kong is different from Mainland China mainly because of the former (very recent) British occupation that has left an enormous legacy on the city-state. You can absolutely feel the Westernization in Hong Kong when compared to the rest of China. It’s extremely autonomous in that most of all their matters are separate from the Mainland. In fact, they use a different currency: the Hong Kong Dollar. Their 10 dollar bill is a shiny neon purple. I saved one. Essentially, Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwain are all “technically” China, but are autonomous capitalist regions, with Taiwan being completely separated from the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and instead being called the Republic of China (ROC). Confused yet? I am. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After what seemed like the most frustratingly long immigration process yet, Valleria and I hopped off the ship and walked around the mall. No, we didn’t take a taxi there; we literally got off the ship and we were in a mall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hong Kong, like Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia, feels like a giant shopping mall. I must’ve walked in or around about six throughout the entire day, each one seeming more high end than the last. No money? Definitely a problem. As Valleria and I walked around, we saw a bunch of other SAS students lost and confused in this giant mall that was technically considered our port. We hadn’t experienced anything like it; the V&A Waterfront in Cape Town had nothing on the Ocean Terminal in HK. When we finally found our way out after a brief WiFi detour, we walked around outside for a bit. We were totally in the thick of it. The buildings? Tall. The traffic? Loud. The people? Numerous. Limited space seems to be a common theme in Asia.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Later on, Valleria and I met up with Diana and took the Star Ferry to Hong Kong Island and grabbed a bus to the Victoria Peak Tram. Again, the crowds were pretty crazy, but we were able to take the Peak Tram with the SAS Parent Trip. Mom and Dad, it would’ve been fun if you came, but I understand the appeal of going to Hawaii for your 25<sup>th</sup> Anniversary instead. Congrats, by the way. Anyway, the Tram was steep and scary and, of course, crowded with people. At the top was a mall. And a Burger King. I had that for lunch. Cultural, right? God bless America. The view of Hong Kong was also pretty spectacular, featuring some of the most fabulous skyscrapers just about anywhere. After wandering around for far too long in the giant touristy mall and not being able to find the exit, we hiked down from the top to the city. I use the word “hike” loosely, however, because it was mostly just walking along the street. I had to split off from Diana and Valleria when we made it to the bottom because the whole thing took longer than we expected and I had made dinner plans with other people. I found myself having to take the subway system to get back to the Ocean Terminal. I was excited by the prospect of having to go underground again, having not used a subway system since Canada, but it proved to vehemently annoying. Like everywhere else in Hong Kong, it was crowded, but it wasn’t marked particularly well; they could’ve used a few more maps and information desks, but the adventure was only more exciting since it was all up to me. When I finally made it back, I took a cab back to the Ocean Terminal and the ship.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That night, I went out with Lily and a bunch of other people for her birthday to a fancy Japanese restaurant in the mall. That one certainly set me back a few bucks. HK, in general, is expensive, especially having come from some of the cheapest places on the planet (Vietnam, Cambodia, India, even Malaysia somewhat). In the middle of dinner, we stepped outside to watch the infamous lightshow. Every night, the skyline of HK lights up with flashing lights. Truthfully, it was relatively underwhelming. I expected a flashier performance. Even still, though, the skyline at night is pretty wild, unlike anything else I had ever seen before. After our meal, we headed out for the night via the Star Ferry and a taxi to Lan Kwai Fong, the main bar scene for expats, locals, tourists, and travelers. It seemed SAS had taken over that night with students spilling out of the bars and into the long L-shaped street. The watering holes themselves were extremely varied, but most of them were pretty small. Somebody said there were over 200 bars in this one area. I believe it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">City two: Beijing! It’s sprawling and polluted; the smog is thick, making it difficult to see the sun. Anyway, after waking up following our night out in HK, we took the train to the airport. Along the way, we saw the less attractive underbelly of the city. Run down apartments lined the sides as we exited the main area of the island. However, after that, the rest of the way to the airport was beautiful. “Hong Kong” actually means something like beautiful harbor. The airport was HUGE. Lily, Brooke, and I set out to find food once we found our gate. We walked for what seemed like far too long of a distance in any airport to find some grub. It was only on our way back did we discover the train (similar to the one at Denver’s airport) to get to the food. Three cheers for looking closely! On the plane, I had the pleasure of sitting next to a Chinese gentleman. That was an experience. Chinese people have a different idea of politeness than in the west. As a sign of enjoying their food, they slurp it. Sure enough, during the in-flight meal service, he slurped it, and it was the most awful noise I have ever heard anybody make while eating. Chinese people also push, shove, cut in line, and shout a lot, all of which I experienced while on the plane. Pleasant? Not so much, but it certainly was an experience.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wasn’t traveling with an SAS-sponsored trip. I was, instead, doing a tour with Global Citizens, a company founded by SAS alumni. They’ve been known for not having the greatest organization in terms of their trips. From what I understand, one of their India trips was particularly chaotic. Needless to say, I was a bit worried, but it worked out fine. We met our tour guides, Joe and Steven when we arrived. Those aren’t their actual names, but they told us to call them that because Chinese names are hard to pronounce correctly for non-native speakers. Upon arriving in the city, we checked in at the Holiday Inn Express. Crappy, right? Wrong! It was just as fancy and high class as the hotels I stayed in in Cambodia and Malaysia. After showering and freshening up, we walked across the street to a restaurant to try some peking duck, Beijing’s famous dish that America poorly imitates. I hadn’t thought that, though, until I had the real thing. It is incredibly tasty. When dinner came to a close, Lily, Christina, John, I, and some others went out to check out the club scene in Beijing. Like every other place in China, it was crowded, perhaps the most crowded clubbing experience I had ever had. It was Lily’s birthday, so we were going from each place as she wished. By the end of the night, it was just the two of us. We went back to the hotel and decided we wanted food. So, like any good college student, we got delivery. To be more specific, delivery McDonald’s. Again, cultural, am I right? French fries at 4 A.M. never tasted so good.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next morning, we awoke early to head to the Temple of Heaven. It was incredibly crowded and big, but it was really interesting. The temple itself was different from others I had seen. During our tour, I bought a tacky panda hat from a vendor. Excellent purchase. Tons of other people on the ship bought them. It’s funny. We then went to the Pearl Market. Shopping in China is more inside than the markets in other countries, but it’s still a fun experience. Bargaining is very, very easy in China, or maybe I’ve just gotten good at it. I think it’s a combination of both.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Afterwards, we started our drive to the Great Wall of China. It’s called the Great Wall because it’s pretty damn great. The drive was beautiful, reminding me a lot of I-70 in Colorado heading west from Denver to Glenwood Springs. Marek was sitting behind me and we commented numerous times about how the scenery was similar. We went through a few tunnels similar to the Eisenhower Tunnel and I saw a ton of hills that could’ve been A-Basin, Vail, or Beaver Creek. Northern China is far more rugged and mountainous than I previously thought. When we reached the Wall, we hadn’t actually reached the Wall; we had to hike to it on a built trail. After about 45 minutes, we made it to the Great Wall of China.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">First and foremost, the views are incredible. Spectacularly beautiful mountains careened out of fertile valleys and seemed to disappear into the clouds. Second, it was cold. I’m not sure what elevation we were at, but it was cold most likely because of that. Third, the hike was extremely difficult. Parts of the Wall are falling apart since it is so old, so the path wasn’t always clear, easy, marked, or put together. It’s also fairly steep in a lot of portions, so there were times when crawling on your hands and knees were necessary. Lastly, a Mongolian woman named Pu held my hand for part of the way. Pu is a farmer who walks two hours to the Wall each day to try and sell trinkets, books, and t-shirts to struggling tourists hiking on the Wall. Though I didn’t want anything she was selling, she was so charming and kind that I decided to help her out by buying a few things. She helped me out until just about the end. When we finally made it after about three miles, we had dinner at a traditional restaurant, set up camp on the Wall, celebrated with a few drinks and conversation, and then started to call it a night. The whole experience was amazing and inspiring.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then we were kicked off the Wall by Chinese authorities because five people started a fire and we were held hostage for about ten hours.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Nope, I’m not lying. Long story short, five people (who shall remain nameless) wandered to a different tower and started a small fire using wood they didn’t realize was some important relic of the Wall. When Chinese authorities discovered them, they kicked the fire five, our group, and another group off the Wall and forced us to set up camp in what seemed like nothing more than a glorified parking lot. I wasn’t entirely surprised, especially considering Joe and Steven told us that sleeping on the Wall “wasn’t illegal, but wasn’t exactly legal.” On a different note, if I had known that little detail, I would’ve picked a different trip. Anyway, while the rest of us were attempting to sleep, the fire five were taken into custody and were interrogated for about two hours by screaming Chinese men. They were told they had to cough up a bunch of cash or risk going to jail. They weren’t given the chance to make any phone calls or explain themselves; due process of law is certainly not the same as it is in America. To make the situation a little better, when their first round of interrogation was over, they cleaned up the mess on the Wall that was left behind. It didn’t help. It actually made matters worse for them because they were extorted for even more money to pay off whatever bribe they were trying to fulfill. While this ordeal was going on in the morning, we were sitting in the freezing cold restaurant we ate in the night before while waiting to find out what was going on. When they came up with the money, the whole ordeal was finally over and we were allowed to leave. Since we left late, we had to miss our huton and city tour by rickshaw, which wasn’t really my reason for going on this particular trip, so it was fine. We still got to eat lunch at another traditional restaurant and tour Tiannamen Square and the Forbidden City, both of which were enjoyable. You’d think that I would be really upset by the situation, but I still had a damn great time on the Great Wall. Global Citizens, you did well.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">City three: Shanghai! The sleeper train from Beijing to Shanghai was way more advanced than the one to and from Kerala and Chennai. I had my own bed with a TV and temperature control. Granted, I had to share my cabin with three awkward Chinese people instead of my friends, but we didn’t talk much, so it was okay. When we woke up, we wandered into the bustling Shanghai train station. Since it was so bustling, I got separated from the main group with Savannah and Will. The three of us attempted to find a taxi to get us to the ship, but none of them understood our directions, thinking we wanted to go to the airport instead of the ship. We asked a policeman, but that didn’t help at all. The language barrier hasn’t gotten in the way that much at all during the voyage, but it was extremely apparent in China, especially Shanghai. We met up with two other SAS students and finally reached the end of our rope and called the ship. They spoke to a taxi driver we found and gave them the proper directions. We finally reached the port a solid three hours after our train arrived.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next two days in Shangai were mostly spent walking around. Of the three Chinese cities, it was probably my least favorite. I certainly liked it, but it just felt difficult to get around in, and two days was definitely not enough. The highlight was at the end of my final day. After six days of having extremely mixed and conflicting feelings about China, my love for the country was solidified by visiting the Jade Buddha Temple with Luke. All the way on the opposite side of Shanghai from the ship, it took a while to get to it, but it was definitely worth it. While we weren’t on any sort of official tour, we walked around on our own and interacted with a few nice people. There were monks chanting upon our arrival and the whole temple was beautiful. It provided a fantastic sense of clarity about how I feel about the country: I love it. Sure, the communism is pretty insufferable, it’s definitely a police state, the language isn’t exactly pleasant, and their conventions of manners are hard to understand, but the culture is fraught with history and the people are generally kind. The Great Wall, the temples, Hong Kong, all of them made for a overwhelmingly enjoyable experience.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I could probably live in China for a summer, but not for a lifetime. Now, our final Asian port, my most anticipated country on this voyage: JAPAN!<o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment--></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-46105802107480289512011-11-02T04:14:00.001-07:002011-11-02T04:14:49.763-07:00Back in 'Nam<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>1292</o:Words> <o:Characters>7365</o:Characters> <o:Lines>61</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>14</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>9044</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I have to get this out of my system before I move on to actaully talking about Vietnam. I just have to. I’m a 20 year old male college student, so it is required of me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Vietnamese currency is called the dong, Twilight’s name is “Hung Dong,” and a common noodle soup eaten in Vietnam is called pho (pronounced “fuh”). All three of these led to numerous jokes made by the shipboard community during and immediately following our stop in Vietnam. “I threw down so much dong back in ‘Nam!” is a good example. Cut us some slack on the maturity front.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My first real experience of Vietnam was of drinking. We landed in the evening in Saigon after flying from Siemp Reap, so we couldn’t really go to any museums or sites. We were told Saigon is a backpacker city, so there’s a solid central location, known as the Backpackers District, where we can find all the bars. Luke, Brandy, Reid, Christina and I had all returned from Cambodia together, so we set out for the night in Saigon together. A small group of taxi drivers and motorcycle drivers were constantly stationed just outside the port. Everytime a group of students approached them for a ride, a huge mob of people would try and pander us for rides. It was a little frightening at times. We opted for a taxi this time since we had quite a few folks. The two prime spots were Buffalo Bar and Go2, two multi-level bars on opposite sides of the street. When we arrived in our taxi, bar satff from both venues swarmed us, trying to get us into their bar to drink with them. I’m relatively certain we picked Buffalo Bar first and went up to the rooftop terrace to enjoy the company of other SAS students. It didn’t really matter which bar we chose because everybody that was out floated freely between both bars and they were relatively similar. Alcohol is CHEAP, CHEAP, CHEAP in Saigon. A beer for $3 is too much. I had four cocktails during Happy Hour one night for only $9. Most places don’t have covers except for on the weekends, and even then are very cheap. We shouldn’t get used to this, apparently, though, because Hong Kong is supposed to be expensive with regard to drinking. Better put on my best outfit and flirt my way to inebriation!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On my first true day in Vietnam, I started off with some food at a sushi place right outside the port. The port in Saigon was interesting because you’d step off the ship, walk a few hundred feet, and be outside on a busy street. The phrase “busy street in Saigon” is a bit redundant because the traffic is outrageous. There’s a lot of hustle and bustle all the time; the streets are full of cars, taxis, motorbikes, people, animals, it’s pure madness. Traffic laws are basically suggestions, sort of reminiscent to how they were in India. The best way to cross the street? Enter when there’s a small break and just cross while hoping you survive the onslaught of Vietnamese traffic. If you look while crossing, your dear-in-headlights face will not save you and you will be run over—at least I assume that’s what will happen because I didn’t actually witness any of that happening. I will say that even after crossing the street numerous times for three days amd three nights, Vietnamese drivers know what they are doing. They would whiz around groups of people and cars in order to avoid certain contact. Often it felt like the video game Frogger. Long tangent aside, the sushi was delicious! Japan is just around the corner...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Leaving the restaurant, I headed towards the center of the city. When I arrived, I approached a motorcycle driver about a ride to the War Remnants Museum, a museum dedicated to the Vietnam War (or, as they call it, the American War). It turned out the driver, named Young, was willing to take me on an entire tour of the city, whisking me around from place to place on the back of his bike. My intended first stop was closed for a few hours due to power outages (sounds like Cambodia), so we went to a buddhist temple instead. Buddhism is a peaceful religion based on finding nirvana, and the temple was no different. There were people praying, lighting incense sticks, and quietly meditating. It was a lovely break from the constant quick pace of Saigon.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Following the temple, we returned back to the War Remnants Museum. I wasn’t sure what to expect, having only learned about the Vietnam War from an American perspective. I was totally blown away. There certainly was a feeling of strong anti-Americanism, but considering the material, it seemed appropriate. There were several exhibits on three different floors. Many of the photographs in the exhibits were grisly, graphic, and gruesome. Especially moving was the section on Agent Orange, also known as Napalm, but chemically named 2,3,7,8-Tetrachlorodibenzodioxin. While the original intention of the United States military was to spray Agent Orange over the jungles and grasslands in order to clear the dense foliage, what actually ended up happening was a huge amount of accidental exposure to humans, causing birth defects, cancer, serious maiming, and death. There were pictures depicting people affected by Agent Orange in the museum. They were harrowing, to say the least.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Young took me around to several other tourist spots in the city, including the Reunification Palace, the Notre Dame, the Central Post Office, and the Hong Kong Market. We conversed along the way, talking about our family, friends, lives, and the like. It felt like I was making a friend. I definitely had made a friend—after my visit to the War Remnants Museum, I told him I was so sorry that my people and my blood did this to his people and his blood, that I hoped we could be friends despite past tensions between the Vietnamese and Americans. He said it was fine and that we were okay. He even took me out to a traditional locals restaurant where we shared a delicious meal and drinks. He taught me how to toast a drink in Vietnamese and told me where the best places to go in the city were to have fun at night. I was amazed by his compassion and humanity in light of horrible misdeeds that occurred during the war (which he was alive during!). The night finished much like the night before—debaucherous. An amazing day coupled with a lot of fun with my friends night made for what was one of the best days of my life.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next two days were much more slowly paced. They really only consisted of exploring Saigon some more by way of motorbike, shopping, and getting a massage. None of my drivers were as personable and friendly as Young, though they were good men, nonetheless. I did most of my shopping at the Benh Thanh Market, a large marketplace in central Saigon. Bargaining is ridiculously easy in Vietnam. A bottle of Hugo Boss cologne? $10. A bunch of t-shirts? $8. A pointed traditional head piece? $1. It can get expensive if you buy a lot of things, but individual items are outrageously cheap. Sure, they may be knock off, but you can’t put a price on cheap DVD’s…well, you can, but you know what I mean. The massage was also on the cheaper side, but wasn’t the best as it consisted of a lot of punching. They aren’t your typical Sweedish massages! Even still, it was worth it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I may not have left Saigon, and I may not have seen everything in the city I wanted to see, my time in Vietnam was certainly well spent. It makes you think, though, since there was a war so recently, so here’s a little something to consider.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Whether or not you agree with the war and our involvement in southeast Asia is irrelevant. It’s long over and we lost. Sure, American textbooks say it was a stalemate, but who really wants to admit defeat anyway? I picked up a magazine while on my fight from Siemp Reap to Saigon and there was a brief history of Vietnam that said they had won the American War. You don’t hear that in America. You also don’t really hear about Agent Orange. History is written by those in power. Like I said, though, our involvement is not relevant. What is important, though, is how wars our fought and how humanity treats humanity. Dioxin, the primary compound found in Agent Orange, has been described by scientists as being the “most harmful and toxic chemical ever discovered by mankind to date,” and that only 85 grams could wipe out an entire city of 8 million. You’d think we’d learn our lesson, but biological, chemical, and radioactive war is not a thing of the past. It still exists in the world. What really amazes me, though, is the human capacity to forgive. The Vietnamese could shove us the bird and say “pho America!” Nope! Instead, they do quite the opposite; they welcome us with genuine waves and smiles. I’ve made friends with a handful of locals on this voyage, but Young was the best. I wish I had kept his e-mail. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Vietnam and Cambodia were two beautiful countries that incited a lot of reflection on what humanity is and what it is capable of. Southeast Asia, you have stolen my heart! Next stop: Hong Kong!<o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment--></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-3837552564228784252011-11-02T00:50:00.000-07:002011-11-02T00:50:35.997-07:00From Temples to Fields: Three Days in Cambodia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>2734</o:Words> <o:Characters>15584</o:Characters> <o:Lines>129</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>31</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>19138</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">We left Saigon, formerly known as Ho Chi Minh City two mornings ago at 6 A.M, mostly so we could leave with the tides. Most locals and travelers, though, still refer to HCMC by its former title, which I think makes sense since that was its name until the 1970’s. It’s been an exhausting, emotional, and exciting few days between here and Cambodia; I’m, of course, going to be splitting this up into two entries: three days in Cambodia and three days in Vietnam. Even though they have technically been considered the same port with the ship docked in Saigon, I’ve had two very unique experiences in each country, so they each deserve their own entries. They may even need more than one, much like India, because I’ve been tested so much while docked here and have had some incredible, eye-opening experiences. First order of business: Cambodia!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Unlike all of our other ports, Saigon is up a river. As such, pulling into it was vastly different scenery. There were many ships and factories along the banks, the water wasn’t as clear as the ocean, and the plant life was abundant. We had entered the jungles of Vietnam so often heard about when the war is discussed. The thought on a lot of our minds was that a war was fought here within our lifetime, which I think is understandable considering that’s what most Americans think of when they hear Vietnam. Anyway, my original plan was to join Nikki, Brian, Ali, Alden, and other folks for breakfast and a jaunt around Saigon. I decided against that, though, because I didn’t sleep that much the night before (again) and I hadn’t packed for Cambodia. So, I did what any SAS student with down time on the ship would do: I slept. When I woke up, I got my stuff together and headed up to the Union for my trip to Cambodia. Ask me what my first memory of Saigon was and I’ll tell you it was sleeping in my room. Some may say “Sam! What a waste! You should’ve gone out!” I say “Whatever. I needed it.” That’s my rationalization, and I’m sticking to it!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cambodia was my first and only SAS overnight trip. Every other overnight I have done was with a third party company or was independent. I was skeptical at first because of what I have heard about some of their trips, but also eagerly awaiting my jaunt across the border into Phonm Penh and Siemp Reap. After gathering everyone together, we loaded onto the bus and made our way to the airport. Traffic in Saigon is ridiculous, but I’ll probably go into more detail on that in my Vietnam entry. It doesn’t seem appropriate for right now. Anyway, the airport in Saigon is really fancy and clean. It was also fairly empty for a major international airport. There weren’t nearly as many people there as there usually are at DIA or Dulles. Perhaps it has something to do with how there are far fewer gates, but that’s just a speculation. I had my first taste of the food at a restaurant in the airport—delicious spring rolls with pho (pronounced “fuh,” which is borderline obscene, but only if you have the maturity of a college-aged male). It felt weird being in an airport for some reason, but also exciting in a way because seeing the land from air is a totally different experience than observing it from a train, bus, taxi, shuttle, van, bike, rickshaw, ship, boat, catamaran, tuk tuk, camel, or any other land or water-based method of transport that I have taken this semester. Sure, those things are nice, but from the air, your vantage point increases substantially. I’m glad we didn’t have to waste half the day driving and instead opted for air travel.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we landed in Phonm Penh, we had to go through visa acquisition, immigration, customs, and goods declaration before we could leave. The lines were shorter then other international airport lines I have stood in, but it took just as long because of how many steps we had to take. The visa cost 20 big ones, but it’s a sparkly green color, so it was worth it (because it got me into the country, of course, not because of its aesthetics). Getting through immigration required thumb and hand prints and a photograph. You see what I mean when I say it took just as long despite shorter lines? Just like the Saigon airport, it was clean, beautiful, and relatively empty. We need to have more airports like that in America.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our first stop was a cruise on the Mekong River. We were told it would be a sunset cruise, but we lost the race against time and it ended up being a night cruise, which ended up being okay because we got to admire all the lights on the shoreline. Phnom Penh is a bigger city than I expected, so there was quite a bit of activity on the river. The cruise was fairly short; we basically did a giant loop that took only about 30 minutes. Following it, we returned to the bus and visited the Palm Tree Orphanage, a small orphanage that serves to aid children of Phnom Penh. SAS has had a long relationship with Palm Tree; they’ve been visiting for several years and there was even a student from a previous voyage helping out during our visit. The children put on a traditional Cambodian performance for us, complete with dancing, music, and singing. During the middle of the show, the power went out; electricity is limited, so at certain times throughout the day, it is shut off in the poorer parts of the city. They powered through the lack of power, putting on the rest of their show for us before taking us on a tour of the facility. The kids there are extremely friendly; I went around with one girl who wanted to be a singer and spoke very good English.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Following the orphanage, we went out to a traditional Cambodian, or Khmer, restaurant. Think delicious fruit, pho, rice, and soup. We also ate amok, a fish dish. Fish dish is fun to say. We were given chopsticks, too; we’ve arrived in Asia! The restaurant itself had a stunning interior; there was a balcony on the level we were seated, as well as several fountains. Dinner ended and we headed to our hotel, another fancy venue with a beautiful lobby area. The biggest plus of SAS trips over independent travel? How they feed and house you, apparently. I had a single room that I’m pretty sure was the Presidential Suite because it was so enormous. There was a kitchen, sitting area, a giant bathroom, and a huge bed. I lucked out. We all met in the bar downstairs for a few drinks before heading out in a tuk tuk for a night out. Tuk tuks are basically a combined taxi and rickshaw, so they’re pretty fun to ride around. We stumbled across a club named Heart of Darkness; Joseph Conrad would be proud. There was no cover, alcohol was cheap, and the prostitutes were excited to see a bunch of white people. Yeah, that’s right, there were prostitutes. Several of us were approached by them for money. As far as I know, everybody turned them down. I was also approached by a pimp who told me he could get me “anything you want,” to which I politely declined. Casual pimpin’ at a Cambodian club—you know how it goes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next morning, the alarm in my room didn’t go off and I had accidentally set my watch forward, so I was under the impression everyone had left already and I would be screwed for the day. Turns out that nobody had received a wake up call, so we were all a little behind schedule. It ended up being that I only missed breakfast, but still, I was rushed so I wasn’t exactly completely a person right away. We began the day with a visit to the Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda in central Phnom Penh. The Royal Palace, as the name implies, is where the king lives. Did you know the official name of Cambodia is the Kingdom of Cambodia? As a constitutional monarchy, their system of government is somewhat similar to the UK in which the monarch is mostly just a figure with little to no political power. The palace itself is a giant complex that was built in the 1860’s to serve as the royal residence. Simply put, it is beautiful. Though I didn’t go to the Taj Mahal in India, many folks were saying it was even better, mostly because it was far less touristy. It seems I picked my trips correctly! The architecture is so different than everywhere else I have been to so far—there are tons of spires and giant roofs that stack on top of each other. The Silver Pagoda is part of the Royal Palace complex, located on the southern side. Housing tons of Buddhist treasures and gold statues, it’s a marvelous example of Khmer history and architecture. Its name comes from the floors of the building—they’re made of silver, so whenever you step on a loose piece, you can hear it creak underneath your feet. Outside of all this, the gardens were fabulously maintained; beautiful trees, flowers, and grasses were planted everywhere. It was early in the day, so we had the place almost entirely to ourselves.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Following the beauty and splendor of the royalty of Cambodia’s past and present, we headed for Tuol Sleng, formerly known as Security Prison 21 (S-21) by the Khmer Rouge, and before that known as Chao Ponhea Yat High School. For some reason, American schooling seems to gloss right over the recent genocide in Cambodia; I hadn’t really heard of it until relatively recently. In the simplest of explanations, Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge regime came to power in April 1975 after scaring Cambodians into believing American forces were going to bomb Phnom Penh into oblivion. Their goal was to create a communist agrarian society in a new state named Democratic Kampuchea. To do this, they captured, tortured, and killed anybody they suspected of political treason and/or being an intellectual. What this meant was that anybody who lived in a city, had an education, wore eye glasses, was suspected of being a member of the CIA or KGB, was Vietnamese, or fell under a number of other “crimes” were sent to S-21 or any one of the many other prisons regulated by the Khmer Rouge. After three years, eight months, and 23 days of brutal rule, the Khmer Rouge were finally defeated by Vietnamese insurgents, which led to a war between the two countries. Only within the last 20 years has Cambodia begun to pick up the pieces and rebuild itself economically and demographically. Depressing, am I right?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We received a brief introduction from our guide when we arrived to Tuol Sleng before we were allowed to explore on our own. I decided to go around by myself to have my own experience and not get bogged down in waiting for someone else. Walking into the former bedrooms, jails, and cells of inmates was all very somber, but I had several moments that were particularly sobering. I’ll detail my feelings later, but I first ought to share what these moments were. At the beginning of my journey around the museum, there was a sign regarding former security regulations. On it listed ten different rules prisoners were forced to obey or face punishment:</div><div class="MsoNormal">1. You must answer accordingly to my question. Don’t turn them away.</div><div class="MsoNormal">2. Don’t try to hide the facts by making pretexts this and that, you are strictly prohibited to contest me.</div><div class="MsoNormal">3. Don’t be a fool for you are a chap who dare to thwart the revolution.</div><div class="MsoNormal">4. You must immediately answer my questions without wasting time to reflect.</div><div class="MsoNormal">5. Don’t tell me either about your immoralities or the essence of the revolution.</div><div class="MsoNormal">6. While getting lashes or electrification you must not cry at all.</div><div class="MsoNormal">7. Do nothing, sit still and wait for my orders. If there is no order, keep quiet. When I ask you to do something, you must do it right away without protesting.</div><div class="MsoNormal">8. Don’t make pretext about Kampuchea Krom in order to hide your secret or traitor.</div><div class="MsoNormal">9. If you don’t follow all the above rules, you shall get many lashes of electric wire.</div><div class="MsoNormal">10. If you disobey any point of my regulations you shall get either ten lashes or five shocks of electric discharge.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Following that, when I was in the group detention room, I locked myself in a former cell for a few moments. Next, I read a brief history of the Khmer Rouge and what they did to the country, including their rise and fall to power. Finally, former prisoner Bou Meng was there selling his book, which I bought.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our next stop after the museum was Choeung Ek, one of the many killing fields that dot the country and were the sites of thousands of executions during the Khmer Rouge. Mass graves contain thousands of bodies of those put to death for merely being educated. In the middle of the site is a Buddhist stupa filled with human skulls and bones as a memorial for all those put to death. Walking around was frightening and sobering, leaving all of us with mixed feelings about ourselves and the world we live in, but again, I’ll get to that later.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We returned back to the airport to fly to Siemp Reap, another city in northern Cambodia and is the site of Angkor Wat, the famous temples that are portrayed on the Cambodian flag. The landscape of Cambodia is, again, incredible, but recent heavy rainfall in the region have led to serious floods. What appeared to be a lake was actually a large area of land covered in very deep water. Apparently, Bangkok is being hit pretty badly by the floods. When we landed in Siem Reap, we headed directly for a delicious buffet-style restaurant. Another SAS group was there! Our groups combined and we enjoyed a cultural dance show, similar to the one we saw at the orphanage in Phnom Penh, but more professional, obviously. Dinner theatre! Upon completion, I left with Christine, Liz, Brandy, Luke, Ali, and others to do some shopping in the night market. It was, perhaps, the most unique market experience I’ve had all year. It certainly gave Camden, Marrakech, and the Central Market in Malaysia a run for their money. The stalls were all outdoors and separated by little alleyways and columns. I bought a handful of things, including patches of every country I’ve gone to and will go to this year. I need to sew them on to something. I finished the night off with a $4 massage, which we were told was a must-do in Cambodia. It was totally worth it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next morning started early. By early, I mean 4:30 A.M. After loading back on the bus, our group plus the other SAS tour headed to Siem Reap’s main attraction of Angkor Wat to watch the sunrise. It was an optional tour, but I am so glad I chose to go because the sunrise was beautiful. It reflected off the watery moat in front of the temple to cast a golden blue light on the actual temple. If you’ve studied world history, you probably learned at least a little bit about the ancient Khmer Empire. It was located in southeast Asia in present day Cambodia, Vietnam, Malaysia, Laos, Myanmar, and Thailand. The greatest legacy of their rule was Angkor, which has now been called the largest pre-industrial urban center in the world. Angkor Wat itself has been both a religious center for Hinduism and Buddhism, and it is evident in the architecture and the people who visit. Carved into the walls are different Hindi deities and Buddha’s, and there were a large number of monks visiting while we were there. We all agreed that because of its enormous size, Angkor Wat would be the best possible place to play Hide and Seek. We didn’t have enough time to partake, unfortunately, but that may have been because we were too busy taking awesome pictures in all of the crevices, ledges, and stairs. After Angkor Wat, we visited Angkor Thom and several other temples. Angkor Thom’s claim to fame is that it’s the temple that was used for the filming of the Tomb Raider’s movie. I could almost feel Angelina Jolie’s presence. Many of the temples were built deep in the forest, so some of them had trees growing in and around them. If you go to Cambodia, make sure to visit more than just Angkor Wat.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During the flight back from Cambodia to Vietnam, I was lucky enough to sit in a window seat. While the flight was short, it was during sunset, so the view outside was breathtaking. I couldn’t help but think about the incredible contrasts of Cambodia and what I had seen over the past three days. I got to see the best of their history and their worst in a very short period of time. The massive infrastructure of Angkor Wat was a true testament to human ingenuity and hard work. It was truly inspiring to see what is probably the most amazing religious structure ever built. On the flip side, though, Cambodia has had an extremely rough half century, complete with genocide, war, famine, economic hardship and governmental instability. The<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>eerie voices of children begging me for “just $1” as I would walk away still are echoing. Their money, the Cambodian riel, is not nearly as accepted by the people as the United States dollar. It felt strange and insensitive to be using my money instead of theirs, but the crippling effects of the Khmer Rouge and their classless society is still felt. While I stood in the jail cell in Tuol Sleng and in the fields of Choeng Ek, I felt death’s cold hand all around me; I was standing in some of the places where, quite literally, one third of the Cambodian population was slaughtered. You had to try to not break down while visiting. What frightened me the most, however, were three things in particular. First, the American government supported the Khmer Rouge because of their stance towards the Vietnamese. We provided assistance in the form of bombing the countryside to keep people from escaping to Vietnam. American history textbooks don’t talk about this enormous error in human treatment. Imagine that, huh? Second, though the country is picking up the pieces, there continues to be a collective sense of post traumatic stress that pervades the country. Although the population is young, just about every Cambodian has a family member that suffered during the Khmer Rouge regime. Psychological issues from depression and anxiety to severe OCD plague the country because of the dark scare tactics used by Pol Pot and his minions. Finally, and perhaps scariest to me, is what many Cambodians believe happened to those who perished during the genocide. In their form of Buddhism, it is believed that if a person does not receive a proper burial, their soul is left to wander forever. Since none of the victims received a burial, there are millions of souls aimlessly meandering throughout the land that once gloriously was the center of southeast Asia. I can’t shake that image from my head, and I probably never will, but I will remind myself of the incredible comeback of the country. One of our tour guides hated the government, the education system, the economy, but said he must stay in the country to help out. The people could be angry and bitter, but instead genuinely love Cambodia, being Cambodian, and want what’s best for their country and their people. Human resiliance—no place taught me that better than Cambodia.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to come back and provide humanitarian aid so that those lost souls and traumatized victims can find some form of peace, even if it’s nothing more than one single dollar.<o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment--></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-49485497056537862222011-10-24T02:30:00.000-07:002011-10-29T03:11:36.403-07:00The Opposite of India is Malaysia?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I’ll let you actually judge if India and Malaysia are, in fact, opposites. They certainly felt pretty different to me.</span></span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Fun fact: In Malaysia, if you are caught trafficking drugs, you will die. That’s right, folks. You will be put to death. In Malaysia, if you are caught trafficking drugs, YOU WILL DIE.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">For the second port in a row, I did not wake up to watch us pulling into port. I blame it on Lily, Alden, and others for keeping me up late. I will wake up as we pull into Vietnam, mostly so I can shout “GOOD MORNING, VIETNAM!” Anyway, actually getting into Malaysia took more time than the other countries because their customs and immigration procedures are run differently. Rather than their officials boarding the ship and inspecting us there, us passengers had to get off to get cleared. Nobody was allowed back on the ship until everyone was cleared. Sounds simple, right? I had a specific plan to meet up with Susie, Ryan, Natasa, and Ash in Tymitz Square after we all got cleared so we could set out on our adventure in Malaysia, which didn’t happen as quickly as it could’ve because it takes quite a while to clear over 800 people from a ship, especially when some of them like their sleep. After what seemed like far too long, we all finally met up. Lucky for us, there were Malaysian travel agents waiting nearby who helped us figure out our mode of transportation to KL. I’m kicking myself for using precious internet minutes the night before. We decided upon a bus at 12:30 from Penang. As the time drew close, we got a ride to the bus station, very briefly explored a nearby mall, and then grabbed our seats and set out on the 4 ½ hour ride south to the capital, Kuala Lumpur, fondly referred to as KL.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">If you have ever taken a long distance bus in the United States, it was likely with Greyhound. You may or may not have not the fondest memories of the Hound, as I recall often feeling like I need to sleep with one eye open and my arm around my stuff in order to protect my possessions (and my life). Sure, I’ve had some positive memories, but the less-than-flattering stereotypes of Greyhound often come true on my ventures. Luckily, in Malaysia, it is very much the opposite. The bus we took was clean, comfortable, and carefully driven. You were even able to put your seat down far enough to sleep serenely. Greyhound, step up your game!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The ride was relatively uneventful. I mostly slept. What I saw of the scenery was ridiculously beautiful, though, featuring jutting mountains, green forests, and deep valleys. I wish it was less cloudy, but it’s rainy season in this part of the world, so the weather is damp and humid. We stopped at a gas station at one point and took advantage of Malaysian snacks. They had ice cream flavored soda that tasted like old cotton candy. County fair material? Almost. At the same time, however, we found a lot of American snacks like Kit Kat and Pringles. Also, there were things like hot dogs, so it certainly was reminiscent of a 7/11. If only they had the taquitos from the gas station I frequented this summer in the Springs. At the end of the day, it’s a gas station, which isn’t exactly the pinnacle of culture (sorry, gas station employees!), so I’m not really sure why I’m writing about it in such detail.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When we arrived at the station in KL, we weren’t exactly in the middle of the city. After figuring out the taxi station, the five of us split up into two cabs. My cab driver was very talkative, telling us all about the political and social climate of Malaysia and the rest of the region. Did you know Malaysia and Brunei are both oil producing countries and that Malayan oil is extremely expensive in Malaysia? In fact, it’s the most expensive country-produced oil in the world in terms of the cost of it in the country that produced it. In other words, Malaysian oil costs a lot in Malaysia. I’ll think about that next time I’m filling a tank at the gas station, which may not be for a long time from now. Now that I’ve committed it to writing, though, I will definitely remember. Global citizenship, here I come!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Also worth mentioning is that Kuala Lumpur is extremely developed. Malaysia’s economy is very well run; the country, along with Indonesia, the Philippines, and Thailand, is considered one of the four Tiger Cub Economies. These four countries follow the economic model of an export-driven, highly developed economy of the Four Asian Tigers of Singapore, South Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong. There is also a large emphasis on education, manufacturing, and tourism, leading to this little pocket of the world feeling like a well-oiled machine of economic excellence. With that in mind, I encountered almost no poverty, crime, or dirt. Culture shock coming from India, much? The two countries could not have been more different, so it was interesting being thrown from one side of the spectrum to the exact other.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Our taxi driver dropped us off at our destination, the Ritz Carlton Residences. No need to read that again; my friends and I got to stay in a five star hotel during our three days in Malaysia. Thanks to the glories of Facebook continually shrinking the world, I reconnected with Chris, an old classmate of mine. Okay, not really, because he actually started attending my high school after I graduated, but we had many mutual friends, so we may as well have been classmates. Chris lives in KL, having relocated there about a year ago, and he offered to let us stay with him in his 34<sup>th</sup> story apartment with him and his family. This marks two countries in a row where I have been able to stay in hotels for free. And I got to go to Robben Island in Cape Town for free. My bank account is thanking me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Chris was still at school when we arrived, so we met up with his mother, Sylvia, and relaxed and showered while waiting for him. Ali, his father, showed up, too, so he and Sylvia told us a bit about KL and what there was to see and do. When Chris arrived, we set out to grab a bite to eat. We went downstairs and toured around the pool, spa, and gym areas. As you might expect, it was pretty swanky. The Ritz Carlton knows how to go big. We then walked next door to a huge mall. Notice how this is my second mention of a mall in Malaysia and we are still on the first day. Malaysians love their malls. Shopping and dining are very high quality, perhaps leading to the high emphasis on tourism in the country. We found the food court and ordered different traditional foods. I enjoyed some noodles and chicken cooked in traditional Malaysian style (I think). When we were finished, we left our trash at the table for janitors to clean up. They have specific job positions for people to clean up food trash. I guess that allows for more employment and a bigger job sector. Seems sensible enough, but it felt rather odd having someone else clean up after me while in public.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">After our meal, Chris showed us around a few different parts of the city. For having only lived there for a year, he made a damn good tour guide. He had the swagger and panache of a well-seasoned local, something that often takes more than just a year to acquire. We were taken to both the KL Tower and the Petronas Towers, the buildings that are immediately noticed when looking at the KL skyline. The Petronas Towers are the tallest twin towers in the world at 1,483 feet and 4,252,000 square feet of floor area. A giant bridge connects the two towers between the 41<sup>st</sup> and 42<sup>nd</sup> floors. Unfortunately, the towers are undergoing repairs, so we couldn’t go inside, but we still took awesome exterior shots. Afterwards, the six of us went out on the town. Our first destination was Reggae Bar, an awesome local and backpackers bar with great music, drinks, and hookah. They also let patrons sign the walls, so we all signed our initials and such, as well as drew the SAS logo. If future voyagers go there, they will see us! Chris then left us as we explored the main strip of Chongka (spelling?). Similar to Long Street in Cape Town, there were many bars and clubs. We drank some more and enjoyed delicious street food for less than $1 and made it back to the Ritz sometime very late in the night.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The next day, Sylvia walked us around the Golden Triangle, the main financial and commercial district of KL. Some of us commented on how similar to Times Square in NYC and Piccadilly Circus in London it was. Gotta love that westernization. We bought a few trinkets and souvenirs before heading back to the Ritz to hop in our private car. Getting driven around in a Mercedes really made us feel far away from India. Our first stop was the International School of Kuala Lumpur (ISKL), where Chris goes to school. The campus was absolutely gorgeous, full of gardens, ponds, and lots of open space. We walked around the grounds, touring the sporting grounds, cafeteria, theatre, and offices. We spoke with some of the heads of the school about our adventure with Semester at Sea and they sounded totally amazed by the concept. Their school mission also includes “global citizenship,” so it’s no surprise to me that they were interested in speaking with us. For a private school, it has a shockingly low tuition, and over 60 countries are represented. Though not representative of the education most Malays are receiving, it was a wonderful tour.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">After we left ISKL, we went on to visit the Batu Caves just outside the city. Malaysia is a Muslim country, but there is a heavy Hindu influence. As such, there are many temples devoted to gods like Vishnu, Shiva, and others. The Batu Caves is one of those temples, except, like the name implies, it is inside a cave. Outside the cave is a giant gold statue of Murugan that reaches as high as the cave itself. To actually enter the cave, you must climb 272 steep steps. CC fans, it’s the much shorter version of the Manitou Incline, because even though it only takes a few minutes to climb, it’s tiring. It doesn’t help that there are ridiculously cute monkeys running around all over the place distracting you. Once inside the cave, we explored the different shrines and statues. It was terribly humid and the ceiling was dripping, so we couldn’t stick around for too long.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Our final stop on our impromptu tour of KL was to the Central Market. Although it wasn’t as outdoors as some of the other markets I have been to this year, it featured many fascinating shops with Indian, Chinese, and Malay influences. I bought a handful of things, including some holiday gifts, and I had the tastiest milkshake ever. Also, much to my dismay, there was no bargaining; everything was a set price. BORING! In the end, though, it was a unique shopping experience which all of us enjoyed. I would like to go back to shop at a more authentic market, though. Chinatown is supposedly pretty great in KL.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Our final night was basically a repeat of the night before except we had a more formal sit down meal at a Turkish restaurant named Bosphorous. Andy, Chris’s older brother, and his friend joined us as well. We also drove to Putrajaya, the federal administrative center of Malaysia, which is somehow different than capital. Though it was late at night, the lights from the bridge we were standing on were beautiful. When we got back to KL, we played some games and tried to watch a movie, but most of us passed out. For me, the night didn’t really end. It evaporated into the next day. Chris and I stayed up all night watching the sunrise from his 34<sup>th</sup> story apartment. It reminded me of staying up all night in London, except I got a much better view. I discussed with Chris how much this voyage has meant to me and how it continues to surprise me and shock me. I also thanked him for his hospitality, especially considering we were never that close of friends and were nothing more than simple acquaintances. We recalled with fond nostalgia the people we both used to go to school with and discussed how our lives have shifted since moving away from Virginia. It felt like I had stepped into a weird Twilight Zone where I was reexamining a life I feel even more removed from right now than the one in Colorado. Maybe I’m living three lives simultaneously right now with only one in clear focus. In any event, I was glad I had the chance to chat with Chris, a non-SAS friend, to get some outside perspective on what’s happening to me right now. Plus, the sunrise was one to remember.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Malaysia was a beautiful country, but I can’t help but think I got a very small slice of it. Not many Malays live in the Ritz Carlton and have a private driver. Despite the extravagance of my time, I had a spectacular three days of city life. Though I spent my time in urban areas, the country is extremely peaceful. Malays, Chinese, Indians, and other ethnic groups live together in perfect harmony. It is an excellent example of a 21<sup>st</sup> century globalized nation that has maintained some elements of tradition. I hope to return to see the more rugged and rural side of it. Next summer: Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, and Laos!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Vietnam tomorrow! And by Vietnam, I actually mean Cambodia since I’m spending the first three days there. Southeast Asia, I have arrived!</span></div></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-89400241751886915722011-10-17T21:40:00.001-07:002011-10-17T21:40:49.208-07:00Instructive India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <link href="file://localhost/Users/medialab02/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>514</o:Words> <o:Characters>2930</o:Characters> <o:Company>Institute for Shipboard Education</o:Company> <o:Lines>24</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>3598</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">India, more than any other country I have traveled to thus far, was didactic. The twelve hour train rides, the poverty, the extremely different ways of living, all of this and more added to an experience vastly more educational and reflective than previous ports of call. This is not to say the others were not, but India took the entire shipboard community by storm; people are still readjusting to life back on the ship; a new country tomorrow seems almost too soon since not many people are fully back from their own Indian experiences yet.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">India, we were told, would be a turning point in the voyage. I feel a difference already. I feel an excitement, a NEED to continue traveling following the end of the voyage. I guess in that regard it won’t be an end, but merely a beginning, but I’ll touch on that in two months or so.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kerala was interesting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Growing up in America, I’ve been taught to believe in American ideals, especially in terms of economics. It’s the American dream, isn’t it? Earn your wealth, right? Capitalism and a free market economy have been been imparted into me for a myriad of reasons, and while I may not be studying economics, business, political theory, or anything within that family of study, I like to think I have a pretty decent understanding of American government and economic institutions. I grew up outside of D.C., so it was always difficult to escape it, though I suppose an overexposure to it made me somewhat jaded.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I may not have been alive during the 1950’s, so I don’t have a basis for comparison, but the Red Scare and witch hunt style politics have certainly made a comeback in recent years. Accusations of President Obama not being an American, claiming Islam as his religion, supporting socialism and communism, and a whole laundry list of other claims have sprung up in the media from worrisome Americans foolishly launching attacks against him and other politicians because of an intense fear of a different style of politics. I’m not saying Obama and his administration are socialist, communist, or any other “-ist,” but I definitely do believe they have a different idea of politics as we enter a more globalized world marketplace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kerala, where I spent my time in India, is primarily communist. Hammer and sickle flags were everywhere and I saw propaganda posters. We had a cab driver who I identified himself as a communist. At first, I was uncomfortable. America has instilled in me an inherent fear of communism; the idea of it may sound reasonable enough on paper, but the actual practice of it, according to what I have been taught by American society, is evil. As I am entering Vietnam in a week and China in two weeks, I’m wondering how I will feel in countries that completely identify as communist, rather than just a small portion of them. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Does it work? Kerala was a happy enough place. Sure, there were high unemployment and suicide rates, but literacy and education rates are astonishingly high. It’s considered first world, despite communist tendencies. Being exposed to different cultures means being exposed to different ways of doing things, both commonplace and vitally important to the structure of the country.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Actually having been exposed to communism first hand has made me realize just how typically American some of my views are, so hats off to Semester at Sea for getting one of their jobs done. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And frankly, if you think President Obama is socialist, communist, or anything within those families of political beliefs, you are very, very wrong.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Malaysia=TOMORROW!</span></div><!--EndFragment--> </div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-16079882334469093602011-10-17T00:57:00.000-07:002011-10-17T00:58:00.633-07:00Infinite India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><style>
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</style> <span style="font-size: small;">A 12 hour train ride is a first for me. For sitting for so long, it’s pretty exhausting. Granted, as soon as I finished writing my entry, I listened to a little music and fell asleep. I use that very lightly, though, because I tossed and turned for most of the bumpy night. My neck was sore in the morning from the lack of pillow. When we reached our destination, Ali, Brian, and I got off with a relatively vague idea of what we wanted to do: a backwater tour on a houseboat. Upon finding a taxi, we asked about the houseboats. Our driver took us on an hour long ride through Kerala down narrow city streets and alleyways and overgrown flora. It rained a few times along the way. There’s a reason why Kerala is so green all the time. The major difference between the rickshaw I took in Chennai and this taxi in Kerala is that this one took us directly to our destination—we did not stop at any stores, we weren’t taken on any sort of tour, we didn’t even get to pass “Go” and collect $200 (I feel like I’ve used that joke before…oh, well). When we reached the houseboats, we asked a few different owners about pricing. There didn’t seem to be that much variation, but there was certainly a range of quality. Some were dilapidated and dirty, others were fancy and fresh. After some deliberation, the three of us picked a fancier boat with air conditioning (a fan), a TV and sound system with speakers, and an upstairs balcony. Living large! We went to pay our taxi driver who we had decided upon a price for with prior to leaving the train station. As it turns out, he wasn’t really a man of his word, and decided to slap a few hundred extra rupees on our fare for his “help with deciding a houseboat.” Begrudgingly, we obliged. It wasn’t too big a deal because the exchange rate here is damn solid for traveling Americans. $1 is equal to 49 rupees, which we sometimes forget, so a 1,000 rupee fee is really only about $20, which is dirt cheap for an hour cab ride. Split between three people equally is about $6.50. Ka-ching!</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We stepped onto the houseboat and removed our shoes—being able to walk around barefoot in such humid weather is probably the ultimate blessing; I don’t even like shoes all that much to begin with. Within a few minutes, we already were being pampered with coconut milk. Kerala is a tropical climate, so coconuts are all over the place. While we were happily sipping, we chatted with some British people on the boat next to us. They told us about a few different places in Kerala to explore and do. I also chatted up London to them and how awesome it was and how desperately I miss it (which I do—a lot!). Our boat slowly pulled away from the jetty and we lazed about on the backwaters for the rest of the day and night. We were provided with delicious snacks and meals along the way. Indian food is spicy and delicious, similar in that regard to Ghanaian food. I ate a fish head. It was fishy. I’m punny, I know. Allepey, the town we left from, is known as the “Venice of the East” because of the vast backwater canal system that many boats meander around. While nowhere near as built up as Venice, the Keralan backwater canal system boasted amazingly lush canopies of trees, vines, and other plants. Like I said before, it’s because of the rain. When we weren’t eating, we passed the time by napping, reading, talking, sitting, pondering, looking, arm wrestling, taking pictures and playing cards. Ali also led me in a brief yoga lesson while the sun was setting. The poses plus the humidity made for a lot of sweat. Even without the yoga there was a lot of sweat. Humidity is rough in most of India, but Kerala is especially muggy. So much downtime was perfect; relaxing on a houseboat isn’t something one does everyday…unless, of course, you live in Kerala.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">After our houseboat adventure, we met our same taxi driver from the day before. He had given us his card to call him when we were ready to be picked up. Not entirely sure of our next destination, we asked to be taken to an area, any area, with hotels and restaurants. He drove us to Fort Cochi, a small town on the water that wasn’t exactly close to Allepey. We went to the tourism office and an internet café to figure out what our next course of action would be. A two day, one night tour of Munnar Hill seemed ideal—more time in nature sounded fantastic. The issue, however, was money. We debated over lunch what to do and decided to find a place to stay. We peeked into one hotel to try and see if they had rooms available. While they had space available, we wanted to look around some more. As soon as we left, however, we were approached on the street by a man asking us if we wanted to stay in a free hostel. Somewhat skeptical at this too-good-to-be-true offer, we hesitated at first, but being the money-conscious travelers we are, we decided to have a look. As it turns out, there were no but’s, catches, or fine print; we had found free lodging in the middle of southern India. How was this possible? The hostel was just opening and looking for clients to stay for free and write positive reviews about them online. Simple enough, especially considering they had free wi-fi, air conditioning, a big-screen TV, comfortable beds, clean rooms, and an incredibly friendly staff. We had stumbled across the jackpot of Indian hostels.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Much of the rest of our time was spent walking around and relaxing. During our preports about India, we warned about loudness. Kerala is the quiet part of India. That being said, there are plenty of things for travelers and tourists to do. Dutch and British colonial influence is still felt—we passed by a Dutch cemetery and right next door was a British gentlemen’s club. We were also warned that street food will rip our stomachs to shreds. We ignored that, opting to eat must of our meals from vendors. It was always touched by hands, wrapped in old newspaper, but mouthwatering and delicious. Often we would sit on the floor in the lobby of our hostel and eat straight off the newspaper; college has taught us well.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our final two days in Kerala were especially exciting. We had been considering getting ayurvedic messages to see what all the fuss was about. After exploring several different spas, we stumbled into one that was attached to a cultural center. Stripping down, we donned these bizarre cloth diapers and laid on the tables, waiting for the masseuse. When mine arrived, he began by asking me to lie on my back. He poured oil all over me. Lots of different oils. He didn’t so much massage me as rub me and lather the oil all over my body on both sides. When that was finished, I had to hop in a steam room and let the oil settle all over me. Then I showered in a bucket. Taaaaaaasty. As strange as it was, I was oddly refreshed by the time it was over. I would probably do it again. Afterwards, we decided to take in a cultural show, which included Kathakali, a traditional Keralan dance theatre form that I’ve been learning about in one of my classes. Frankly, it was odd. And a little scary, especially when one of the performers jumped out into the audience. A few girls sitting near us ran out and didn’t come back. By the end of the show, only Ali, Brian, and me remained. I’m glad I witnessed it, though; 2,000 year old theatre is a very special thing to witness.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On our final day, we decided to head to the beach. A slow start in the morning prevented us from getting there as early as we would’ve liked. Once we set out, however, we didn’t look back. We jumped on the ferry and took it across the water to another town. Once there, we took the bus for over an hour up north to Cherrai Beach. The bus stop was about 3 kilometers from the beach, so we had to walk there. Tired and somewhat frustrated, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to walk, especially after the long bus ride. Upon arrival, we had to climb over some rocks to the beach. Beyond the rocks, there was the perfectly blue water of the Arabian Sea. I stripped down to just my shorts and jumped in the warmest water I have ever swum in. The waves were enormous and pushed me around all over the place. The water was salty. I realized to myself I was as far away from Colorado as I possibly could be on this planet. After all the weirdness and hesitation and strange emotions I had been feeling, I was finally at peace, in the water, floating far away from the land I love the most.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If there has been a country that has inspired me the most, it has to be India. Everything has given me this sense of ethereal wonderment. We were told it would be “an attack on the senses,” but that implies that it would hurt; I’ve felt such joy from the sensory overload of my past few days here. To be perfectly honest, Kerala is definitely not like the India portrayed in movies and other media. It’s cleaner, quieter, and slower. That’s what makes this country so fascinating to me, though. The people who chose the Taj and other “tourist” destinations are got a completely different India than me. I must come back. India is so big. Any adjective you want to describe India could in some capacity. Yes, it’s dirty. Yes, there’s poverty. Yes, it’s sad. In all its negative stereotypes and connotations, India is ultimately a beautifully complex land that I cannot write about as well as I wish I could; I leave that task to a writer far better than I ever will be. It is an impossible task to succinctly describe. It is impossible to not use hyperbole when talking about it. If Semester at Sea claims to give us appetizers about all the ports we visit, they gave us barely a glass of wine for India.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I will return for an indeterminate amount of time and backpack around the country. For now, we must move forward to Malaysia. I’ll probably write again before that, probably about India. If I had to pick a word for it all, I simply would choose this: mesmerizing.</span></div></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-91527217543695456032011-10-12T06:24:00.000-07:002011-10-12T06:24:37.516-07:00Into India!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>1219</o:Words> <o:Characters>6952</o:Characters> <o:Lines>57</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>13</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>8537</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Preface: This was actually written on October 10th, 2011. It's being posted late because it took me a while to find an outlet to charge my computer and a working internet connection. Much has happened since the events of this blog, but that will be described at a later time. For now, here was my first day in India.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay, picture this. I’m sitting on a foldout bed in a train above Ali and Brian as we ride our way from Chennai to Cochin, two cities on opposite sides of India, a massive land of over one billion people. Ali is playing cards with a deck I lent her with a friendly Indian man and Brian is reading something on his kindle. We’ve been riding for about an hour and still have about 11 hours to go. How is this my life?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Up until now, I’ve been waiting until the end of ports (or way after, in the case of Mauritius) to write entries about my adventures and musings. I’ve decided to switch things up a bit this time. Everybody that didn’t support Obama’s campaign buzz word of “change” can go ahead and write me a personal letter of complaint about mixing my style to Sam Faktorow, 3<sup>rd</sup> Deck Outside, The MV Explorer, Somewhere, The World, and I’ll do my best to respond in a prompt manner. I also expect it to be attached to an owl, simply because Harry Potter is awesome. Anyway, my primary reason to write something on the first day is I feel like I miss things when I wait until the end. Journaling on paper in a diary, for some reason, doesn’t do much for me. I mean, I understand the value of it, but I can’t seem to bring myself to journal on the same level most of my friends do. Plus, my blog here is basically my electronic journal, full of my observations, opinions, feelings, and questions. Second, today has been an adventure in and of itself. We were told there is no way to prepare for India and I already feel unprepared and overwhelmed. I love it, though. Thirdly, I need a way to pass a time on this train that doesn’t involve gnawing on one of the metal bars from my own stir crazy thumb twiddling.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The night before arriving into India, the yoga class I attend every other day on the ship was taught outside on the 5<sup>th</sup> Deck. All you yogis out there, imagine sun salutations on the back of a ship as you approach into India, the very land yoga originated. If that’s not the perfect way to enter India for the first time, I don’t know what is. Though the humidity made it difficult to focus at times, it was still a moment of validation in terms of my yoga practice. I am certain I will continue as the voyage ends.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I did not wake up for the entry into Chennai. Frankly, the port is ugly. You can’t even see the city. It’s a huge change from the pink beaches, green mountains, and small skyscrapers of Port Louis, Mauritius and the touristy V&A Waterfront and blanket of clouds above Table Mountain of Cape Town, South Africa. I munched on my breakfast happily until I was called to retrieve my passport and go through customs. I had an SAS trip first thing in the morning, Yoga Demonstration in the Union on the ship. Though relatively short, I enjoyed watching and being guided through several moves and positions I had yet to do on my own. I was able to buy a book and an instructive CD as well, so hopefully those will come in handy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Afterwards, I wandered out to the reception desk where tour guides had set up a little stand with guide books and maps. While I was there, I ran into Lou. Remember her? The splendid Swede (there’s that alliteration again) who set up the homestay in Senase, Ghana? Yes, her. The two of us decided we wanted to go into Chennai for lunch. I hurried to my room, set my yoga mat down, and changed into different clothes. I met up with her and Jeremy and sauntered off the ship into a brand new continent, a brand new world I’ve long heard about: Asia. Okay, so perhaps you might be thinking India is to Asia as Morocco was to Africa: not “Asian.” Whatever you want to argue, I am geographically and politically on the 4<sup>th</sup> of four continents I will be visiting this year. I’d rather not think about how time is slowly slipping away, so I’m going to ignore that I just said that. Don’t bring it up to me if we end up conversing, reader, if you actually exist, that is.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lou, Jeremy, and I made it to the outside of the port. Some rickshaw drivers met us, offering to drive us places. We were hesitant to take a ride, thinking we could save some money and walk into the city. After some bartering, we agreed to take a rickshaw with Vijay and Morgan. I believe his name was Morgan, at least. They both kept calling me “Sham,” “Slam,” and “Siam,” so for now, his name is Morgan. Vijay and Morgan took us on a brief city tour, stopping off at the beach, a church, a Hindi temple, two department stores, and a restaurant. While we were on the beach, they let us drive the rickshaw. Yes, folks, that’s right. I drove a rickshaw and did not crash. Maybe now I’ll be able to drive an actual car in America without wrecking it. We’ll see. The church we went to, St. Someone-Who-I-Could-Check-The-Name-Of-On-My-Camera-But-It’s-Buried-In-My-Backpack-And-I-Have-No-Internet-Right-Now, was one of the three churches in the world that contained the tomb of an Apostle of Jesus Christ, the other two being St. Somebody-Else in Spain and St. Peter’s in Vatican City. Having gone to Vatican City at the ripe age of 11, I am two for three on these churches. I’m a regular devout Catholic! As for the temple, it was right by a busy market and featured some pretty fascinating artwork. We weren’t allowed inside, but the exterior was captivating; pictures soon, potentially. The two stores, though, were basically the same: big, tacky, and filled with expensive trinkets for gullible tourists. My final stop, the restaurant, was definitely the highlight. Indian food takes the cake (ha) when it comes to all the countries we have been to thus far. It’s spicy, flavorful, and filling. Plus, we are expected to eat with our hands. A messy man need not complain.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The adventure didn’t stop there. Brian, Ali, and I were supposed to meet at 3:45 P.M. to venture to the airport in order to catch a flight from Chennai to Cochin, Kozhikode, or Thiruvananthapuram (yeah, I can’t say it either), one of the airports in Kerala, our destination for the week. Ali ended up being late, mostly because her FDP ran long. We weren’t too worried, so we hopped into a taxi and ventured to the airport, an hour away on the other side of the city. Well, as luck would have it, all the flights we had hoped to catch were sold out or too close to leaving to let us purchase a ticket. Who would’ve thought the last flight out would be at 7:15? Every ticketing agent said the same thing, which ended up getting a touch frustrating. Without even a trace of panic, we researched other ways to make it to Kerala that night. With the help of an airport employee, we found an overnight train from Chennai Central to Cochin via the Alleppey Express. Quickly piling into another taxi, we ventured back across the city to the train station. Through the massive crowds, poorly structured bureaucratic nightmare, and sweltering non-air conditioned heat, we somehow figured out how to purchase our tickets for the train. We scarfed down some food (sidenote: my meal cost less than $1 and filled me up perfectly; looks like my budget isn’t totally screwed from failed taxi rides!) and then found our platform. Inside the train, we set our stuff down, and relaxed as our adventure really started to take shape and come together.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess I felt inspired to write this because in this one day, I feel like India as a place, a body of people, and a world beyond anything else will never actually leave me. The smells already have pleasantly poked at and disgustingly invaded my nasal cavity. The people have been far more friendly and talkative than I expected. The beggars, though sad, are as much a part of the experience as anything else. The food cannot even be simply described. I have had to bite my tongue and keep cool at numerous points during the day in order to not let a jaded westernized viewpoint get in the way of trying to understand this confusing place. Keeping cool has been a theme as I’ve figured out how to navigate my way about.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">India, so far, doesn’t seem quite real. The mystique so often portrayed and talked about is there and is as wonderful as I hoped for. India, so far, is shaping into an experience, rather than just a place. All of this from just one day may seem premature, but it’s true when people say India is in-your-face from the beginning. It hasn’t let up one bit, and I’m looking forward to more.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This took about an hour to write. Ten hours left in this limbo before stepping off into Kerala! </span></div><!--EndFragment--></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-32241579327955790162011-10-09T02:18:00.001-07:002011-10-09T02:18:52.270-07:00Crossing Through the Indian Ocean<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>578</o:Words> <o:Characters>3300</o:Characters> <o:Lines>27</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>6</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>4052</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh. Hello, potential imaginary reader. And Mom and Dad. Hello Apologies for not posting in a long, long time—I wish I had an exciting excuse that involved amazing adventures while traveling in some exotic location, but really I just got lazy and overwhelmed with work. It’s Midterm Season around these parts, and since I haven’t had more than one midterm at a time since high school, I sort of fell off the radar. I don’t really mean that in the nautical sense, but we can pretend.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After we left South Africa, we entered a new ocean—the Indian. I began to feel far away from my world in Colorado, much like Neptune Day and the Equator crossing. I suppose I fell into a world of self-reflection and trying to understand my life from a distance, which probably added to my lack of writing. It’s strange because I was feeling inspired, especially after South Africa, but I couldn’t bring myself to write anything. I’ve only recently gotten back to it. I certainly came to some conclusions, but they’ll probably not be applicable after India and the rest of Asia.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During our long crossing across the Indian Ocean, we did have two days off, one of which was spent on land—Mauritius! Ever heard of it? It’s a tiny island nation in the middle of the ocean with an extremely dense population of 1.3 million. It’s a pretty newly inhabited land, so much so that we were told it’s colonial history is its history. My day there was spent on a catamaran floating around in the water with my friends and drinking delicious beer and swimming and getting horribly cut up by the coral and getting sun burnt and generally being a collegiate hooligan. To say I learned anything about myself in this country would be a bold faced lie, an utter fabrication of reality. You can’t really learn a whole lot in less than a day in a country that was utilized for having some drunken fun. That being said, it was a wonderful day in the sun with my friends. Here’s a little ditty I wrote:<br />
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Delicious Mauritius</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(Sounds almost fictitious)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Was controlled by the British.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My rhyme scheme is repetitious,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But certainly not salacious.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In delicious Mauritius</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I played with the fish</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And made a deep wish</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To one day bring a Polish</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to delicious Mauritius.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You dig it? I bet you do, poet. Anyway, that was Mauritius in a beer-coated nutshell.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many students were hoping for a day off to just rest after the inebriated whirlwind of Mauritius. Instead, we had the Sea Olympics! Divided into seas by where we lived on the ship, there were 12 different competing teams—nine student teams, one faculty and staff team, one Lifelong Learner team, and one dependent children team. I live in the Caribbean Sea and our color was purple. Make a “but where has the rum gone?” joke and I’ll kick you in the shins. We don’t have a Jack Sparrow (or a Zach Luna—I hope he reads this), so it’s hard to really make that joke, despite our mascot being the pirates (again, Zach Luna, I hope you are reading this—you’d be right at home in my sea). Anyway, the events were quite varied, ranging from a reverse spelling bee and trivia, to a popcorn eating contest, to synchronized swimming in the pool. In the end, the Baltic Sea on the other side of the deck from us was victorious, but us Pirates came in a solid fifth. Whattup! In all seriousness, though, we are the best looking sea, so we really won in the end.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tomorrow marks our arrival into Chennai, India. Unlike many of my friends, I will not be venturing north to the Taj and all the “touristy” sites. Instead, I will be heading west to Kerala, a rural state on the Arabian Sea with many attractions and beautiful landscapes. I’ll be venturing around with no real set plans—just me, a few friends, and my backpack. Yes, I’m nervous, but I know I’ll be reaping incredible benefits from traveling in a small group of people with a level of spontaneity I have yet to explore while on SAS. It’ll be a reminder of London and Spain, but with even less structure. Until next week, namaste, dear India!</span></div><!--EndFragment-->London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-4521739595024434982011-09-28T16:05:00.000-07:002011-09-29T00:30:00.260-07:00The South Africa Chronicles<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Day One, Friday, September 23rd, 2011: Sunrise Over the Table, FDPalooza, and Long Street Lounging</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Day Two, Saturday, September 24th, 2011: Bikes, Wine, Cheetahs, Brandy, it Must be Stellenbosch!</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Day Three, Sunday, September 25th, 2011: Not a Safari, Not Skydiving, a Township</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Day Four, Monday, September 26th, 2011: The Peninsula</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Day Five, Tuesday, September 27th, 2011: Robben Island, Table Mountain, and Dinner in the Trees</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Day Six, Wedenesday, September 28th, 2011: Saying Goodbye to Cape Town</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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</span></div></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-61724766147422978942011-09-21T03:33:00.000-07:002011-09-21T03:33:09.544-07:00Just Dance<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>454</o:Words> <o:Characters>2589</o:Characters> <o:Lines>21</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>3179</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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 6<sup>th</sup> and 7<sup>th</sup> 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? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">T-2 days until South Africa. Even though I used it in Ghana, it still applies: Waka waka! This is Africa!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">P.S. I'm at work right now, using my other bosses Internet. I'm a sneaky sneak, I know.</span></div><!--EndFragment-->London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-14099315072994206162011-09-17T09:55:00.000-07:002011-09-17T09:55:49.908-07:00Great Neptune's Beard!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>687</o:Words> <o:Characters>3920</o:Characters> <o:Lines>32</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>7</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>4814</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another blog entry? So shortly after my last one? Say it aint so!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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 <i>Things Fall Apart</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> 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.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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 7<sup>th</sup> 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?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">Ghanaians (and to a certain lesser degree, Moroccans) celebrated the simple things, so why can’t I?</span></span></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>14</o:Words> <o:Characters>81</o:Characters> <o:Lines>1</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>1</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>99</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--><!--EndFragment--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Five days to South Africa!</span><o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment-->London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-9776021391370011442011-09-16T15:51:00.000-07:002011-09-16T15:51:23.839-07:00Save the Ghana for your Mama!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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 7<sup>th</sup> 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!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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!</span></div><!--EndFragment-->London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-90477412513236991042011-09-09T04:50:00.000-07:002011-09-09T04:50:24.349-07:00You May Be Safe, but I am Free<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>401</o:Words> <o:Characters>2291</o:Characters> <o:Lines>19</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>4</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>2813</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My favorite point of Adam’s? You may be safe, but I am free.</span></div><!--EndFragment-->London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-69197069152998367332011-09-06T08:03:00.000-07:002011-09-06T08:03:19.702-07:00Play It Again, Sam<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, it <i>could </i>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.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1Np-lRSa1xcQr0NCeOJ4_qnuM7NE0OxoQJWkEXmlzaWX1bpgrne5mHy1FpJEN_BPEr6E90ahYxmAOzT_zvYgSA5p7Cg3-kiBCKYttqKw9iiiQ5GyhOiiH-ja7eufkD6QdtglQ0N0wp4/s1600/DSC00366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1Np-lRSa1xcQr0NCeOJ4_qnuM7NE0OxoQJWkEXmlzaWX1bpgrne5mHy1FpJEN_BPEr6E90ahYxmAOzT_zvYgSA5p7Cg3-kiBCKYttqKw9iiiQ5GyhOiiH-ja7eufkD6QdtglQ0N0wp4/s200/DSC00366.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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!</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New friends :) Ali, me, Nikki, Nick, Ryan</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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 <i>Taken</i>, 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.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ali, me, Nikki, Farrah, Veronica, Jimmy, Kevin, Julie</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, what did I learn from Morocco?</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a lot more to learn. I can't wait for what's to come.</span></li>
</ul><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a clandestine Moroccan dream</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I foresaw a sandy butte</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Standing amongst the pine groves.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Berbers kindly waved</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I passed on freight.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Their veiled faces a cloudy figure</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the land of barren earth</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fed only by sun and moon.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A romantic oasis of lamb kebab</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And herb-infused pita,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Moroccan dream ignites</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A wandering old soul within my young bones.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps this land was kind to</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The right person with seaside hopes</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of regal Rabat or the novel Casablanca,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe even arid Marakkech.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I, I long for the snowy Rockies</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of a familiar home</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many fortnights away.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a clandestine Moroccan dream</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A thirst was sequestered</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And sustained</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As twilight approached.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I miss home more than I expected, but man, oh man, I'm loving life right now. One week until Ghana!!!!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">P.S. Yes, the title is a reference to <i>Casablanca</i> and Rick's Café. I didn't find the original, but there are something around eight replicas throughout the city.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvf59h1mBc6A8K8kHV1qDeZHgNGehAoAm5VbF_4GSfGm4xE330i8sckIpigjvbTYSfAhpss27YPlXqy4oPpxKhKF2zMnpv5onJP8acPiL_MFf2Loog23mnqy63c3VqurS9hoDBf2k2MUY/s1600/DSC00163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvf59h1mBc6A8K8kHV1qDeZHgNGehAoAm5VbF_4GSfGm4xE330i8sckIpigjvbTYSfAhpss27YPlXqy4oPpxKhKF2zMnpv5onJP8acPiL_MFf2Loog23mnqy63c3VqurS9hoDBf2k2MUY/s320/DSC00163.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not actually the one and only</td></tr>
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</span></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-85002111093072744182011-08-28T10:07:00.001-07:002011-08-28T10:07:47.297-07:00Rollin' on the River <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>1385</o:Words> <o:Characters>7900</o:Characters> <o:Lines>65</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>15</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>9701</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">The title is very literal; we are, in fact, rolling on the St. Lawrence River. The MV Explorer is not very big, so when waves and swells occur, they certainly are felt. I can’t walk straight. Nobody can, really. It’s really, really funny because most people look like they are piss drunk as they are trying to navigate the hallways. The seas aren’t even that rough yet, apparently, so I’m sure it’ll be even funnier as we hit rough water. The ship also moves around a lot, so it’s hard to sit and stand straight without bending to one side. It’s kind of fun, actually. It feels like a game. I’m a little bummed the weather today is foggy and chilly, but that’s what we get for leaving from so far north. The sunset yesterday was breathtaking, so that makes up for it. <br />
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Upon completion of my last entry, I quickly packed the rest of my stuff away into my bags, met up with my parents, ate some lunch, left the hotel, hopped in a cab, and rode over to the Port of Montréal. While on our way, I finally saw it—I finally saw the ship I would be calling home for the semester. It was a moment of validation, but also one of unbridled excitement. My mom snapped a picture on the phone, my dad offered his final fatherly words of wisdom, and I just stared in childish glee. We unloaded the cab to find a lot of people and lines; it was a bit of a bureaucratic nightmare at first with nobody really knowing what was going on. Once we all figured it out and realized how to actually board the ship rather than stand around outside it, things did not calm down. The excitement and nerves were infectious; not a single person seemed like they weren’t at least a little bit glad to be there. What was really exciting was actually meeting some of the people I had been talking to on Facebook for months on end about out upcoming experience together. Some people were exactly how I pictured them, right down to how they spoke, their gait, and the sound of their voice. Others were entirely the opposite, but that made things interesting.<br />
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The actual boarding process was somewhat akin to boarding a plane: take off your shoes and jacket (Blink 182, anybody?), empty your pockets, remove your belt, take your laptop out, the only thing missing was an annoying TSA Agent with a Napoleon Complex. The security folk seemed very relaxed and friendly; they understood how annoying the process was and how much we just wanted to get on board and get settled. Once we cleared security, we walked the long and winding way down the gangplank and onto the actual ship. Cue goofy smile, much like the one I had when I got off the Tube at Westminster in London back in April. Only difference here—everyone had big goofy smiles, so I didn’t feel as dorky. The whole time I was walking with my not-so-new friend Nikki and chattering away about how damn excited we were. I so “not-so-new” because she was the first person I added as a friend on Facebook from the Fall 2011 Voyage of Semester at Sea group, so we’ve been talking since April about how excited we are for this, that, and the other thing. Man, we were some excited fools. How many times can I use the word “exciting” or some variant thereof throughout this entry? Answer: a lot. I’m not usually one for reusing words, but in this case, it’s appropriate and still fresh, despite potential overusage. Don’t like it? Find a less excited blogger. SORRY.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I found my room, #3071, after much searching. The ship feels like a maze, even though it’s small. It seems like there are dead ends everywhere. So far, it is the smallest room I have had in college. There’s two beds, a small desk for sitting with a mirror, a shelf, some closet space, two small chairs, a small table, another mirror, and a bathroom with a toilet and small shower and sink. Notice how often “small” appeared in that sentence. Space is limited, so I sort of feel like we are a tin of sardines all smudged together. It’s cool, though, ‘cause we’re a family! Well, not quite yet, but hopefully soon. After setting up my room and going to a few meetings, we were free for the evening, so I went with my new friends Nikki, Jimmy, and Farrah (and maybe others? I think? I can’t remember) into Montréal to find the VIP Bar Night that another student had set up at this Irish Pub. After an adventure on the metro and a few blocks of walking, we found it, walked upstairs, and began to meet all our fellow shipmates. The place was packed with excited (and somewhat inebriated, but that’s a different story) college students, all waiting for the moment of truth (or boarding and embarkation, whatever works) that was to come the next day. I was somewhat frantically searching for my friend Ali, a nice girl from Pace University who I had been talking to a lot since May. When I finally found her, BIGGEST HUG OF MY LIFE. Or one of. I’ve had a lot of big hugs in my time. Seriously, though, we were thrilled to see one another finally. It was awesome even to see the people who I hadn’t talked too much but had chatted with only a few times (or not at all) and to finally see them animated and not just a little square box on Facebook. These people are real, man, and not just random identities out there in cyberspace. As the night drew to a close, Nikki and I made our way back to the ship, walked around it for a bit to try and figure it out, and then promptly fell asleep.<br />
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Fast forward to the next morning. All us work study students woke up disgustingly early in order to help the rest of the students board. My specific duty was to walk around with my coworker and shipmate, Maria, and briefly interview people about what they did in order to prepare for this moment. It was a long, long day, but a happy one. Again, lots of hand shaking and hugging. A lot of people said it felt very similar to the first day of freshman year, but for me it was more intense since I started a semester a late with only 40 students. That being the case, I wasn’t exactly used to meeting several hundred people all at once. Learning names is going to be a challenge at first, I’m sure. Oh, and I met my roommate. He’s Kevin from Minnesota. He goes to Colorado School of Mines in Golden, Colorado, and is majoring in Physics. Don’t we sound just like two peas in a pod? We are just so similar! Sarcasm aside, he’s a nice guy. Great artist—he hung up some drawings he did and they are outrageous. Once everybody had boarded, we had a mandatory lifeboat drill. I’m seriously hoping this doesn’t turn into the Titanic, because that would be a lot of wasted money, among other woes, of course.<br />
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The time finally came at 5:00 P.M. Embarkation was upon us. Everyone stood around the edges of the ship and waved goodbye to all the parents. Pictures began to happen. When we finally set sail, cheers were abound. It was an incredible feeling, filled with every kind of emotion (even sadness!) coming from every direction. It was pretty indescribable, so I don’t think I’m even going to try and express how I was feeling. Maybe I will later. The rest of the evening was spent in a few meetings, getting to know people, and figuring out the ship.<br />
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The next day was orientation. Boring. Utterly boring. A lot of information that was pretty obvious (wash your hands, be prepared for the unexpected, don’t fall overboard), so I was quite happy when it was all over. I kept meeting more and more people throughout the day and evening. There are only 457 of us students, which is an incredibly small number for Semester at Sea. It usually averages somewhere around 600-650, with capacity being ~700. I’m not complaining; going to a small school has made me appreciate the community that is found through a tiny student body. A whopping 13% hail from the University of San Diego, 5% come from my neighbor to the north of University of Colorado at Boulder, and another 5% are from our sponsor school of University of Virginia. I’m the lone wolf of Colorado College, the lone wolf of the Block Plan, and I am okay with that. This is the first thing in my life that I have done absolutely, 100% alone, with not a single other person from my world at home or school joining me. It’s daunting, and a little unsettling, but very humbling. It’ll be better this way. I’ll be more independent this way. Some other statistics include: California, Colorado, and New York are the most represented states; 38% male, 62% female; and over 10% of every year in school, except for seniors at 9% (I think). We are a diverse and dynamic student body; every student I’ve met has been funny, gregarious, entertaining, and engaging. Can’t beat that!<br />
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As I sit here outside on the 7<sup>th</sup> Deck with water all around me (and some bros pumping iron at the little gym on the side and making me feel like lard of laziness), I can’t help but be grateful for the opportunity that has been bestowed upon me. I am extremely humbled and blessed by my parents and Colorado College for this unique experience, one that many, many people will never even come close to having. I’m already having the time of my life, and I can’t even imagine being back in America at this point. There isn’t a mountain in sight, which would usually freak me out, but the jagged peaks of the Rockies have been replaced by beautifully clear blue-green water, the very essence of life. I have my first class, World Theatre and Performance, in about two hours. I’m going to go find some new friends to pass the time. I probably will be reporting back again after our first port, Morocco, which is only six short days away. Until then, here’s to hopefully finding my sea legs!</div><!--EndFragment-->London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-37714519596494521442011-08-25T06:21:00.000-07:002011-08-25T06:43:48.613-07:00The Adventure Begins...again...in Canada<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, Canada, my home and native land! Except not really; I was born in Washington, D.C. That’s just the beginning of their national anthem. I do like hockey and maple syrup, though.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW7c0JYQ29VsiJPAbKVs5DI7ggRJ719z5udwxFbMCOb7941ybR2EEmzIwgm2ntEynkFDTMfbANUuDP9qu-tlN_yprTfa9TwPqZyle9QRAiwkfjtdrUHKs8C6CGQab_pHd33fx1JnIuxYE/s1600/DSC00065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW7c0JYQ29VsiJPAbKVs5DI7ggRJ719z5udwxFbMCOb7941ybR2EEmzIwgm2ntEynkFDTMfbANUuDP9qu-tlN_yprTfa9TwPqZyle9QRAiwkfjtdrUHKs8C6CGQab_pHd33fx1JnIuxYE/s320/DSC00065.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Modern Art?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The flight was simple. I took two naps, read half of my mom’s Time Magazine, and started Garrison Keilor’s<i> Lake Wobegon Days</i>, "where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.” Thanks, Matt Potter! Sometimes, I wish I was from Minnesota. Customs took longer than expected. There were a lot of different people from a lot of different places, so it was a nice introduction to the level of diversity I am about to experience. Getting bags didn’t take too long. Air Canada didn’t lose any of them, but it was lightly sprinkling outside, so some of my stuff got wet. Frustrating! The cab ride to the hotel was relatively short. There was some traffic leaving from the airport. And that was that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Much more exciting than a United States post box</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve been to Canada before. Toronto, Vancouver, Victoria, Lake Louise, Calgary, and I think some other random place, too. Montréal is very, VERY different from the rest of the Canada. It’s French! It’s not super pretentious French, though. I mean, sure, there are some trashy hipsters and EVERYTHING is written in French before English (and all the people assume you speak French before English—or maybe that’s just me? Do I look European? THANKS, LONDON!), but it’s not overbearing or annoying. I wish I could have a few more days here because, frankly, I haven’t seen enough.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fountain</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn2q_HSWnbRzPxGNR_kJhUFRxnY6F0YdcJEb2DGf71a3TeYXXTLgCmqlgUbCWAoKFw2b3YNwZ2ZIvO3NhTxwg5Y_xLTLyaqtLPqQTyMMThGePlSX5jbom4oNynuVXIlqGfLYfo0qudLvc/s1600/DSC00002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn2q_HSWnbRzPxGNR_kJhUFRxnY6F0YdcJEb2DGf71a3TeYXXTLgCmqlgUbCWAoKFw2b3YNwZ2ZIvO3NhTxwg5Y_xLTLyaqtLPqQTyMMThGePlSX5jbom4oNynuVXIlqGfLYfo0qudLvc/s320/DSC00002.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-dMDaO_OKqiBmcXBP78P9oqaua7MYBb87gOJ-vgKrmwAznoy8W5_lH1HthBN0dfxZnfvjnzq3rs7WcW-iwuRDQ5RxP3rDR1SwBXc3Z_1x0iWhyeEFTwywFBg-XRTN_N5MzA5J9-NyJI/s1600/DSC00010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-dMDaO_OKqiBmcXBP78P9oqaua7MYBb87gOJ-vgKrmwAznoy8W5_lH1HthBN0dfxZnfvjnzq3rs7WcW-iwuRDQ5RxP3rDR1SwBXc3Z_1x0iWhyeEFTwywFBg-XRTN_N5MzA5J9-NyJI/s200/DSC00010.jpg" width="150" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of the other SAS-ers didn’t come up here with their parents, but I’m glad mine did. I got to stay in a nice hotel and eat delicious food and drink delicious wine, none of which are within my budget (or probably ever will be). Plus, it’s been nice to hang out with them and my sister after not seeing them most of the summer. Our first day, we had a late start, ate a delicious crêpe lunch, and then biked around for a little, mostly along the St. Lawrence River. It doesn’t seem very polluted at all; the water is so blue! It was choppy, though. Lots of waves and swells, so now I’m kind of nervous for sea sickness for the first couple days as we make our way to the wide open ocean. We also went in the Notre Dame. Though not as big or beautiful as the one in Paris, it was still extremely impressive. Fun fact: the architect was so impressed with his work he, apparently, converted to Catholicism so he could be buried in it. Jesus? Psh! Guess the guy was just really disappointed with his original religion and its burial practices...</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1976 Olympic Stadium<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fam</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next day, which was yesterday, we went to the Olympic Village, or Village Olympique (there’s that French I was talking about), to see where the 1976 Summer Olympics took place. Second fun fact: the main building is the world’s tallest slanted structure and stadium at 175 metres (or, 574 feet). The Leaning Tower of Pisa only leans at 3.99 degrees and barely compares to this. We went on a tour and explored inside the stadium. We also went up the cable car to the top of the tower to get an aerial view of Montréal. It was interesting to see a city that only had a few rolling hills in the background as opposed to the Front Range beyond Denver and Pikes Peak right next to the Springs. I miss mountains. Afterwards, we walked around downtown, enjoying the day.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pops!</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My first two nights, I went out and met other SAS students. Both times, I’ve met up with people at a specific hotel and then went out with them to some bars downtown. So far, I really like all of them. Everyone seems very friendly, very excited, a little nervous, and very ready. I love how it feels like a family is already forming. I can’t wait to meet everyone else, especially the people I have been talking to more. Four months with these people already feels too short. Four months of new places already feels too short.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchQxiw0u5INyS9CUn2poEgFm5F4mGNLnZU7RmW_TmZe4NmSGWwRqM6-yRjx8PSggW1TnsrgRupx7xUekeX7lWnSPDPdiM9X-rMj-0i8zQxVBaaRSKP3DVyZqJgWSPiGHc61NEcgLvSZE/s1600/DSC00081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchQxiw0u5INyS9CUn2poEgFm5F4mGNLnZU7RmW_TmZe4NmSGWwRqM6-yRjx8PSggW1TnsrgRupx7xUekeX7lWnSPDPdiM9X-rMj-0i8zQxVBaaRSKP3DVyZqJgWSPiGHc61NEcgLvSZE/s320/DSC00081.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Montréal!</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn’t sleep last night. My brain just didn’t want to shut off. I tossed and turned until about 2:40 A.M. and then read more Lake Wobegon Days in the bathtub in the bathroom so the light wouldn't bother my sister even though she couldn't sleep either. Weirdly, though, I'm not tired. My body is playing this fun little game in which sleep isn't a necessity, it seems. This isn’t the first time I’ve been kept up by my own head, consumed by my own nerves and jitters and anxiety. I had two in a row back in May while I was in London, which seemed a bit early, if you ask me. I wouldn’t say I’m nervous, which usually is what causes sleepless nights for me. I’m just excited. I just can’t believe it’s here. Finally here! I board TODAY! I leave TOMORROW! The world is just around the corner! The road here certainly hasn’t been easy, cheap, or clear and simple. I’ve run into many bumps in the road. My questions only seemed to grow exponentially as this week has loomed closer and closer. I’ve never had cold feet, though, and I still don’t even have a little bit of chill on my toes. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be for this, which may not be saying much, but it’s the best I’ve got, the best I can do, and the best I will even try to do. Nobody could ever fully prepare for themselves for an experience as moving as I know this one will be.<br />
<br />
Thank you so, SO much to my friends, family, loved ones, professors, advisers, counselors, doctors, and everyone else that had some kind of part in getting me here. This road would have been impossible to travel alone. Thank you for letting me dream, question, wonder, explore, think. All of this is about to become reality. I’m missing all of you already.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Time to take off the training wheels I kept on throughout London, Spain, and Canada and let this global adventure BEGIN!</span><o:p></o:p></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-21469315702156609832011-08-22T09:36:00.000-07:002011-08-22T16:03:13.947-07:00Getting Here<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ended up packing more than two bags and my backpack; I’m a notorious overpacker. Oh, </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">well. I'll still get on the ship.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJztXS6iKGrDfhzQt5VOZGo-u6TjaIPGAFhNOaLYzjflkybysnnosUczVrLYfIIm0QKJ4nIS8Jjr3oQHjssLkb-_We0cgigDZZFpdUwDhbalXQRd5A5EQKwOxBO6xJn8k4pQbJfR2kEk/s1600/IMAG0266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJztXS6iKGrDfhzQt5VOZGo-u6TjaIPGAFhNOaLYzjflkybysnnosUczVrLYfIIm0QKJ4nIS8Jjr3oQHjssLkb-_We0cgigDZZFpdUwDhbalXQRd5A5EQKwOxBO6xJn8k4pQbJfR2kEk/s320/IMAG0266.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My life, for the next four months.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Four months ago, I was landing in London, beginning my jaunt around the world. Three months ago, I was drinking sangria in Spain, looming close to my short break from traveling in order to focus on other things. Now, here I am, waiting in DIA, about to take off on an adventure I still can’t fully grasp the magnitude of. Canada awaits. Then Morocco, Ghana, South Africa, Mauritius, India, Malaysia, Cambodia, Viet Nam, China, Japan, Hawai’i, Costa Rica, the Panama Canal, and Cuba. The adventure will come to an abrupt halt in Florida.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It took a while for me to make it here. And I don’t mean that the drive to the airport was long—our flight out of Aspen was cancelled so we had to make the four hour drive to Denver’s airport. It’s chill, though; I finally finished my final essay for my Peter Pan class. I’m now OFFICIALLY off the Block Plan until January. Show me what you’ve got, Semester Plan! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqvRirfwayQUjPPkV_NjpN9RO1dryhp28QPmB5t8175FbXOfFLk3jtH3zaSwr5dD_Q916WPtoknmmju1tkh8F9fx2ClsdPRQF2ZL8es-wwC74qmkXu5gvt-Bw7uKrKXtIDt6TG3L1fw0/s1600/Photo+144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqvRirfwayQUjPPkV_NjpN9RO1dryhp28QPmB5t8175FbXOfFLk3jtH3zaSwr5dD_Q916WPtoknmmju1tkh8F9fx2ClsdPRQF2ZL8es-wwC74qmkXu5gvt-Bw7uKrKXtIDt6TG3L1fw0/s320/Photo+144.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't want anything to do with Peter Pan ever again.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve waited for this moment since I was 16 years old, when my sister sailed on the Spring ’08 voyage. I vowed to myself I would someday do this myself, that I would have my own adventure around the world. It wasn’t easy. I started college a semester late. I declared two majors. I wasn’t sure if I would graduate on time. I still applied anyway. I was accepted. I was thrilled. My school was what gave me a hard time. I had to go through an insane petition process in order to receive credit. 17 short essays and a million and one approval signatures later, I turned it in. A month later, I was supposed to get a response. I didn’t. The committee wanted to discuss this matter further. Fast forward another month. It’s March. I’m at the end of my rope. I was beginning to consider Plan B’s. But not really. I knew I HAD to do this, that I had to expand my horizons tenfold. I told my school I would leave, that I would transfer to another school that would accept the credits for transfer. I felt sick to my stomach that I said that, because I love Colorado College, but I knew my college experience wouldn’t be complete without Semester at Sea. I cried that night, thinking that I would have to leave all the people that I have come to love. I built a life from nothing. Apparently, though, that worked. A week later, my petition was accepted. Colorado College said yes. Colorado College said travel. Colorado College said live on the edge. Colorado College said go on your own “unique intellectual adventure” and fulfill our motto we plaster everywhere on campus.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now I am. And it doesn’t feel quite real. It probably hasn’t hit me fully yet. Maybe when I actually see the ship I’ll feel it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next stop: CANADA AND SEMESTER AT SEA!</span></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-15284158201074369672011-08-20T22:28:00.000-07:002011-08-20T22:45:59.991-07:00Summer 2011 (in Pictures)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtyxeUY9n4u6rsCm-IwRDkb_06ZRFh6Ow4LjSfit3Xtt4NrBkBklwMTjqWrEudQ5EpPfyU8XSw2O9y-8QjhRdoF-WyGv9Zrmo_enEUns1FsqtZOfY9IzAeJcKzNBJmF80SwvnTbw_NRU/s1600/DSC01198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtyxeUY9n4u6rsCm-IwRDkb_06ZRFh6Ow4LjSfit3Xtt4NrBkBklwMTjqWrEudQ5EpPfyU8XSw2O9y-8QjhRdoF-WyGv9Zrmo_enEUns1FsqtZOfY9IzAeJcKzNBJmF80SwvnTbw_NRU/s320/DSC01198.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lollipop at Hamley's in London</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've but one full day left in America, most of which I will be spending packing my life away into two duffels and a backpack, all of which should (presumably) weigh under 50 lbs. My life, for four months, will probably weigh no more than 125 big ones, which is less than my actual body weight. Thanks a lot for making my life and possessions feel so insignificant and for making me feel fat and greedy, United. You guys are a step ahead of SAS and the Institute for Shipboard Education in terms of making me realize how much of an excessive Americanized consumer I am. Nicely done.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgJH9pdkQx8uDMOQmHDjtXALFxI-g8QPiVc1RhX90EawqTJGyMiv9o69S-lEA9q49edMqpNnhoZGD-SqDjdxKKAJNM6kQ0CX2LckiOJy1KfNPX4aW-fzZ2zL0dvrhqMljmg6pGuCbSCk/s1600/DSC01197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgJH9pdkQx8uDMOQmHDjtXALFxI-g8QPiVc1RhX90EawqTJGyMiv9o69S-lEA9q49edMqpNnhoZGD-SqDjdxKKAJNM6kQ0CX2LckiOJy1KfNPX4aW-fzZ2zL0dvrhqMljmg6pGuCbSCk/s320/DSC01197.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dolo's boyfriend</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwMg1_VIOj8jcV8_3dT4_BiJRknceKnTKeUJHFRsr_J02bs5Mlinx1wOUYW4TSIfwHRFJfb4G3A1q4VItDWqmbk0TXUQEjsTlArfmtb7Ky6lB-7OHfvXU8Fnfbu6wQ6_OTWYx_RXoDYQ/s1600/227098_10150607936865214_808240213_18796684_749090_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwMg1_VIOj8jcV8_3dT4_BiJRknceKnTKeUJHFRsr_J02bs5Mlinx1wOUYW4TSIfwHRFJfb4G3A1q4VItDWqmbk0TXUQEjsTlArfmtb7Ky6lB-7OHfvXU8Fnfbu6wQ6_OTWYx_RXoDYQ/s200/227098_10150607936865214_808240213_18796684_749090_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainy day in Salamanca</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have three long hours to kill at the airport between flights on Monday, so I'll probably write something significant then. For now, here are some memories from this summer. From final explorations of London and a birthday in Spain, PrideFest in Denver and the culmination of the Harry Potter films, acting in <i>the Chekhov Picnic</i> and stage managing my first dance show, visiting Aspen and Virginia and Cheley, and (attempting to) living on my own in an apartment off campus with no meal plan while juggling my first ever internship and three summer classes, this summer has absolutely been filled to the brim with memories and fond moments. Thanks to everyone involved! Miss you all already.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqPMUwSvpw1YM-9qDD_PPjuUnGcUOnZzvvy59wA0FZosJZlCFEtgnaCSejqFmFreMJFsVDA1zq8hg2CzicIkCGrMdU-2i4Ef9lJPuKd-K-EOFzQ0Qrvakb0GVCe04eyGaUmZ0QI5ASpRg/s1600/DSC01208.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqPMUwSvpw1YM-9qDD_PPjuUnGcUOnZzvvy59wA0FZosJZlCFEtgnaCSejqFmFreMJFsVDA1zq8hg2CzicIkCGrMdU-2i4Ef9lJPuKd-K-EOFzQ0Qrvakb0GVCe04eyGaUmZ0QI5ASpRg/s320/DSC01208.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best travel partner and birthday buddy ever!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhHvMKbBHjvHZ-SZgvxfLOOgwYgHqESIbmR7slvxjlMve9ImxokxPuvhJ369fqM7I0CAPFbQGdyLdpXYLA4P6hMU1VGH_Yp2I1jcqHe9SFpoW03Kv5zgz35og1DSwXV1fyBB-Mn-QBmw/s1600/DSC01217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhHvMKbBHjvHZ-SZgvxfLOOgwYgHqESIbmR7slvxjlMve9ImxokxPuvhJ369fqM7I0CAPFbQGdyLdpXYLA4P6hMU1VGH_Yp2I1jcqHe9SFpoW03Kv5zgz35og1DSwXV1fyBB-Mn-QBmw/s320/DSC01217.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwROX8jKhGGDa6plR4Bwyn0ls3ftzrQPOSRdcIV7AoJSxLO4RL1iDl0uNA7xvku2IAUH4a8UXB67gVodbqMVDzMF6ZKQXXseIbbZlkMO6H9HVax3VLewBkztN33Rrul-1SXUSmI0D-Gg/s1600/DSC01212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwROX8jKhGGDa6plR4Bwyn0ls3ftzrQPOSRdcIV7AoJSxLO4RL1iDl0uNA7xvku2IAUH4a8UXB67gVodbqMVDzMF6ZKQXXseIbbZlkMO6H9HVax3VLewBkztN33Rrul-1SXUSmI0D-Gg/s320/DSC01212.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Madrid</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_TJzNvXDL76FEQZczoACpTs0XwMJYmqRDGk4NGvLiowlBF8URgsHm9KRgeU4ysUWSxWY7HqNPgOaXfNEZ-4WMbZRIYGYBJGwZd2uDwupnlWajIyWHbWqU_2ZAflBcxGmg4cZm9MgRG4g/s1600/DSC01224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_TJzNvXDL76FEQZczoACpTs0XwMJYmqRDGk4NGvLiowlBF8URgsHm9KRgeU4ysUWSxWY7HqNPgOaXfNEZ-4WMbZRIYGYBJGwZd2uDwupnlWajIyWHbWqU_2ZAflBcxGmg4cZm9MgRG4g/s320/DSC01224.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spanish Countryside</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih7ZVP5m6Uli_GR_0PLyevqSqW1HKbIQPJgo4mgwoRZFEUL060971gOU91yO8ZCO1iTED_9qGAao4utQV8xk9vLUq8isecDCjv78od8YjdX15w1QzB60jrPxJrtJv5UCrk-I60e1dQHaQ/s1600/DSC01244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih7ZVP5m6Uli_GR_0PLyevqSqW1HKbIQPJgo4mgwoRZFEUL060971gOU91yO8ZCO1iTED_9qGAao4utQV8xk9vLUq8isecDCjv78od8YjdX15w1QzB60jrPxJrtJv5UCrk-I60e1dQHaQ/s200/DSC01244.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQ8gcjfjGMQYytnVenG-FEsK5B6-gbJwTXzw4mBXJXOptjmk38RJ1fYu1aPy_XQ8aqBvz9H-aB6aItm0u6UjsSS1horhW9WL0_e4sjqA8YxbyfgDCzvOwlU6ch8RRdqPRMyx3KST2C38/s1600/DSC01257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQ8gcjfjGMQYytnVenG-FEsK5B6-gbJwTXzw4mBXJXOptjmk38RJ1fYu1aPy_XQ8aqBvz9H-aB6aItm0u6UjsSS1horhW9WL0_e4sjqA8YxbyfgDCzvOwlU6ch8RRdqPRMyx3KST2C38/s320/DSC01257.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXY-DcLQhF1dpvs8BDqXQy2E1JPbzKvZealFCxQZQuZMfpBy-3Tp7oo1cpR9fcybLGd9QNc64YvCIdkJ_fGkZ7eAuwLFSNYllADmFCkcWOdMRDQDone9khTfGxWoB5-hMFlny4TUVCXOc/s1600/DSC01267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXY-DcLQhF1dpvs8BDqXQy2E1JPbzKvZealFCxQZQuZMfpBy-3Tp7oo1cpR9fcybLGd9QNc64YvCIdkJ_fGkZ7eAuwLFSNYllADmFCkcWOdMRDQDone9khTfGxWoB5-hMFlny4TUVCXOc/s320/DSC01267.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's our birthdays!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06qjXsR7AsqH05t9P9lDjkguQFVM-OHhmheGvXDLg2y7F4WgPnzWtdtE1JjhYdWo_vFIM6znZ97o0fJ9X-DehuQCvMvLTZNHeIPcBJUjXmIa_hw0cVav7OZnMqg6xmY1TsWXclPKZwyg/s1600/DSC01303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06qjXsR7AsqH05t9P9lDjkguQFVM-OHhmheGvXDLg2y7F4WgPnzWtdtE1JjhYdWo_vFIM6znZ97o0fJ9X-DehuQCvMvLTZNHeIPcBJUjXmIa_hw0cVav7OZnMqg6xmY1TsWXclPKZwyg/s320/DSC01303.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaza Mayor at night</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGgzbE2BWuk0Zlb6806iHuOnyDYgwTWMfejhSZGCwSliDrr-UfR5C7VaKKTa7gxdzkKg6zbSXGxIrB_UKy_ApMg0dAgD4ytT7KhvHmx22aZ9Nq4gv5hQN6k_dQwWD8gTv7gGgOU-DeYZQ/s1600/DSC01329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGgzbE2BWuk0Zlb6806iHuOnyDYgwTWMfejhSZGCwSliDrr-UfR5C7VaKKTa7gxdzkKg6zbSXGxIrB_UKy_ApMg0dAgD4ytT7KhvHmx22aZ9Nq4gv5hQN6k_dQwWD8gTv7gGgOU-DeYZQ/s320/DSC01329.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday Kids—19, 21, 20</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGyrgvYTf2BVo40W6gj8zAfSVUit6HbfxKnpytN1Ks980dnw-wIy1qFFH0lDTpjkhuWXT4ZJDpg0MkIVpiq1fv56ALT5LDcQQcz-4RIH7X-DO279pi4g7qoWvKsJMy3bZwTQJZM55pOEQ/s1600/DSC01335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGyrgvYTf2BVo40W6gj8zAfSVUit6HbfxKnpytN1Ks980dnw-wIy1qFFH0lDTpjkhuWXT4ZJDpg0MkIVpiq1fv56ALT5LDcQQcz-4RIH7X-DO279pi4g7qoWvKsJMy3bZwTQJZM55pOEQ/s320/DSC01335.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, you know. A castle. On the side of the road. In Salamanca</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUumpTQZ590D2K7M4sI348v01LEKLjIkVyTu2e-Alqkc-ywTEK1Uszn8JFRAdzjYjmyfRLV0wNOFsAqWmoMfrzNm62cxhj3JNl22kFIV9k8cyHZSxw2vRRtq1PC4VhHC11kXCQ3b9L3Q/s1600/DSC01353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUumpTQZ590D2K7M4sI348v01LEKLjIkVyTu2e-Alqkc-ywTEK1Uszn8JFRAdzjYjmyfRLV0wNOFsAqWmoMfrzNm62cxhj3JNl22kFIV9k8cyHZSxw2vRRtq1PC4VhHC11kXCQ3b9L3Q/s320/DSC01353.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roommates!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSG53DuQ6NwVGs6PhSK1OTpulR4i-7zUVo11EXRr4OPbCKyZkcy9dTXvPdMKMVoIUWfdX8dDCxkFKLGfTbyQQBH67KU-5lqX46hZ1YJaeGh9kYDI5PMw4Xzw-hs5yQNign3aIWTQcuqjI/s1600/DSC01357.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSG53DuQ6NwVGs6PhSK1OTpulR4i-7zUVo11EXRr4OPbCKyZkcy9dTXvPdMKMVoIUWfdX8dDCxkFKLGfTbyQQBH67KU-5lqX46hZ1YJaeGh9kYDI5PMw4Xzw-hs5yQNign3aIWTQcuqjI/s320/DSC01357.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDN7wzoomKdGAu59yiQYFrPXf8V3rkfHB6PS78gTKc3a6PNSxAU7ruffDWrpdloQa7oH-nnqgGdl8gSUPuh2OLIojgbYItxzYMyljs8L0L8RqTDgTGz-Q4KS9vgY5okO0EWS-UMQodNF0/s1600/DSC01442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDN7wzoomKdGAu59yiQYFrPXf8V3rkfHB6PS78gTKc3a6PNSxAU7ruffDWrpdloQa7oH-nnqgGdl8gSUPuh2OLIojgbYItxzYMyljs8L0L8RqTDgTGz-Q4KS9vgY5okO0EWS-UMQodNF0/s320/DSC01442.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmXsC4zdhZf59KCoWSH3qmOMpBNyVLMtk8oxGbrRjPNtlw5UR9jnBTvpkaI494Pnw6oJ4YOFqp61w3kJkb3-nh8LsY9UeuYEJZbWHTAHXBCdzt_C6LNIGmpV-uzsVmK1pQE1ubXfWMmhs/s1600/DSC01446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmXsC4zdhZf59KCoWSH3qmOMpBNyVLMtk8oxGbrRjPNtlw5UR9jnBTvpkaI494Pnw6oJ4YOFqp61w3kJkb3-nh8LsY9UeuYEJZbWHTAHXBCdzt_C6LNIGmpV-uzsVmK1pQE1ubXfWMmhs/s320/DSC01446.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best couple of my life</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_R0UCH5bJbZcasTzRUTYu8aT8iuXOcLb_z809j_O3ww9cZt-Fwkfq_2Pk1rb-JANaCvqe_C5TfF6ALjLlVv9erK0Kl6VdcwM_fe1TQCP_mC54V7IqN9EB6sEplNrXvuE3Ha91H52D-g/s1600/DSC01456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_R0UCH5bJbZcasTzRUTYu8aT8iuXOcLb_z809j_O3ww9cZt-Fwkfq_2Pk1rb-JANaCvqe_C5TfF6ALjLlVv9erK0Kl6VdcwM_fe1TQCP_mC54V7IqN9EB6sEplNrXvuE3Ha91H52D-g/s200/DSC01456.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9u0HZjSLvAD-gnMDKQtgix7I-ep1_BMQuLdrSRoILPQ7OVniWh__jANeyHI0xb5VDO9ebrIVTnerkdh7l8zfLXpe_f3mSunEg2pVOeg9rjFM6-2A-MfI_jtWMu9wiaw7-gLsPrU8qseU/s1600/DSC01505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9u0HZjSLvAD-gnMDKQtgix7I-ep1_BMQuLdrSRoILPQ7OVniWh__jANeyHI0xb5VDO9ebrIVTnerkdh7l8zfLXpe_f3mSunEg2pVOeg9rjFM6-2A-MfI_jtWMu9wiaw7-gLsPrU8qseU/s320/DSC01505.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pearl Street, Downtown Boulder</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM75PxbfP_fChf5joy1ZB4jnK5EIqBjNG9vz4xftsR-CCZXvdPZcqhnL3UQ5j28xSVfkr9DjpeqU8WaGcnlJCMcYx6C4b77NxFmB9XOZcB4_at_t6bZQEyKJjODpyg3v_2dGw0TjXE_PU/s1600/DSC01513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM75PxbfP_fChf5joy1ZB4jnK5EIqBjNG9vz4xftsR-CCZXvdPZcqhnL3UQ5j28xSVfkr9DjpeqU8WaGcnlJCMcYx6C4b77NxFmB9XOZcB4_at_t6bZQEyKJjODpyg3v_2dGw0TjXE_PU/s320/DSC01513.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaG6M5AaOFzGwWmKDL9M_0wUog3JsxynyRHwjnjZExcykj-6ai9VWZcGPwMczkyVjQLE26FdIgD1ITwGWgBL1IgBY5C42Y7haNwJnp_kndZ_bUPgDDqi2tQPdDD80sqsr2jlusyj3-rI/s1600/DSC01517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaG6M5AaOFzGwWmKDL9M_0wUog3JsxynyRHwjnjZExcykj-6ai9VWZcGPwMczkyVjQLE26FdIgD1ITwGWgBL1IgBY5C42Y7haNwJnp_kndZ_bUPgDDqi2tQPdDD80sqsr2jlusyj3-rI/s320/DSC01517.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZm-M23VntZvM2PSbpGLuzPpv-AgT-hbIOWh7-RN1BOK16xo_nMz9I0jtqFqgpef8YC1RPjBCRpSdQRSGsSOzjJ7CHovyYZ9rlZmtSTsGKyZgBUVrZwq6A0zs4PKIIyYtPvtak8S781I/s1600/260069_10150683012250214_808240213_19535460_28794_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZm-M23VntZvM2PSbpGLuzPpv-AgT-hbIOWh7-RN1BOK16xo_nMz9I0jtqFqgpef8YC1RPjBCRpSdQRSGsSOzjJ7CHovyYZ9rlZmtSTsGKyZgBUVrZwq6A0zs4PKIIyYtPvtak8S781I/s400/260069_10150683012250214_808240213_19535460_28794_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Chekhov Picnic</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsOu6vW9AuGXjVXSYaIyHq_QZNmEpurQV90eG2geUmNZK2fbyRhnuYNzESt_0O32MSi7wQTtTvf3m5FpV-Pa-sHUkoeUlScjkUCstHjeiq99uz8sngy30fgENJzr5LKMoKskKCKa8TP8A/s1600/261529_10150683017810214_808240213_19535517_4049896_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsOu6vW9AuGXjVXSYaIyHq_QZNmEpurQV90eG2geUmNZK2fbyRhnuYNzESt_0O32MSi7wQTtTvf3m5FpV-Pa-sHUkoeUlScjkUCstHjeiq99uz8sngy30fgENJzr5LKMoKskKCKa8TP8A/s320/261529_10150683017810214_808240213_19535517_4049896_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2kgq9J1MktGdH3_qoQo_MCcyYfJSWwPTCkcc1eDZFHiRQSXsXhaJSK9B5H8QDQrOo1iLvuWn8Uxwee4pPn9NySY8pal_rH6P1WvcIbCf0olZaPE5Iwt4HSrL5NJsIXCPF8ecwMxHA8s/s1600/263802_10150646464120214_808240213_19235214_1389513_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2kgq9J1MktGdH3_qoQo_MCcyYfJSWwPTCkcc1eDZFHiRQSXsXhaJSK9B5H8QDQrOo1iLvuWn8Uxwee4pPn9NySY8pal_rH6P1WvcIbCf0olZaPE5Iwt4HSrL5NJsIXCPF8ecwMxHA8s/s320/263802_10150646464120214_808240213_19235214_1389513_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossdressing. It happens.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAhh76-lE1PorJUqwIrW3lcO0NxsF-CVob2IMFXQP3_kDHvCgDGM_UGfcMdmMPllzoIHmpn8p3bsAhpcvRu6KiaJRIGf-nNz1ooeIgDIM1wpO69Hd3keQ2hh_Jt9Pkfy8j_znUAimJdA/s1600/DSC01526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAhh76-lE1PorJUqwIrW3lcO0NxsF-CVob2IMFXQP3_kDHvCgDGM_UGfcMdmMPllzoIHmpn8p3bsAhpcvRu6KiaJRIGf-nNz1ooeIgDIM1wpO69Hd3keQ2hh_Jt9Pkfy8j_znUAimJdA/s320/DSC01526.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4th of July<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbW8GDEp_gn6MMt2HL58xuPt5ieRJx5-J57ei3Fddvnonil07HoejQn70W9xxtZ915aieV0noaDxIwqpu8UjpVM63qVS3S0vwiahuHBVuiYWtROhBjxmN-4Z3Acj8ko721AYQJpLNOW8/s1600/DSC01528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbW8GDEp_gn6MMt2HL58xuPt5ieRJx5-J57ei3Fddvnonil07HoejQn70W9xxtZ915aieV0noaDxIwqpu8UjpVM63qVS3S0vwiahuHBVuiYWtROhBjxmN-4Z3Acj8ko721AYQJpLNOW8/s320/DSC01528.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KCvKKzI9sSydWZVE1I4kidEXKLlvYO1RBcYR5bkBTfG1b8vhpMVWkmF03d5SsSqtSDMAJabyvQjkiIQWCphTxBu2nUtwS39EgpSBJpGQgXYH5AN3DsYNsjjH2_5ho8FRWd3zAtWkWcs/s1600/DSC01529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KCvKKzI9sSydWZVE1I4kidEXKLlvYO1RBcYR5bkBTfG1b8vhpMVWkmF03d5SsSqtSDMAJabyvQjkiIQWCphTxBu2nUtwS39EgpSBJpGQgXYH5AN3DsYNsjjH2_5ho8FRWd3zAtWkWcs/s320/DSC01529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ren Faire!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-HcbK9KHYdsOMztppJhPcopCg-7bsM3RuQ8gVqk9eGi37a_L7Fc-RtmGGz8DHeowt0DE6F62mN0CQugfHqcMHlYr9aL7CcmZxcjQx2j8A7MDMhMLY1uU0VtHKBvGILaZoW90PTm4UKYo/s1600/DSC01536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-HcbK9KHYdsOMztppJhPcopCg-7bsM3RuQ8gVqk9eGi37a_L7Fc-RtmGGz8DHeowt0DE6F62mN0CQugfHqcMHlYr9aL7CcmZxcjQx2j8A7MDMhMLY1uU0VtHKBvGILaZoW90PTm4UKYo/s320/DSC01536.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sailing together!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMg_11mzyjDMTI6pYbO7NvTJ1nnw48bKAhUzeSE_QA3zNTxGd6i6P9YtNV-ZeCjlgJpAzdWf8OKEP-pCHwew7Tq81bUG4QLz8t8aIkfi1yEyI6Jw-NFL-dn1hRsi1gbS9Gux0dKaFM4Fk/s1600/DSC01562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMg_11mzyjDMTI6pYbO7NvTJ1nnw48bKAhUzeSE_QA3zNTxGd6i6P9YtNV-ZeCjlgJpAzdWf8OKEP-pCHwew7Tq81bUG4QLz8t8aIkfi1yEyI6Jw-NFL-dn1hRsi1gbS9Gux0dKaFM4Fk/s320/DSC01562.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HP7.2</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhirH12JOcUK_yj3O4zmkOogfa-wxin99Gkdk4ALRVUAf4OImvVojpYgVK4gKalnJUG15jF42AYwWAS5z7n3TTrI2Zmc2jobK0v0hnbWLgMlvOZe5RUvdNp33aV_EdM1sr0QZ6uK9oyq5w/s1600/DSC01590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhirH12JOcUK_yj3O4zmkOogfa-wxin99Gkdk4ALRVUAf4OImvVojpYgVK4gKalnJUG15jF42AYwWAS5z7n3TTrI2Zmc2jobK0v0hnbWLgMlvOZe5RUvdNp33aV_EdM1sr0QZ6uK9oyq5w/s320/DSC01590.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glenwood Springs</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0KS9AeUy3XgBuektiisKLWWEjRlCQibhJyaaB2_xgy2MNRhtbTkh8UUDw4VK63scYUe_5lJW_YlFkuZtFM1lVibQP8jg-b2eGsekU0rgsFQMIHKdsUhiEUnvKdgVgxJ4Cx5ToPPFMwU/s1600/DSC01620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0KS9AeUy3XgBuektiisKLWWEjRlCQibhJyaaB2_xgy2MNRhtbTkh8UUDw4VK63scYUe_5lJW_YlFkuZtFM1lVibQP8jg-b2eGsekU0rgsFQMIHKdsUhiEUnvKdgVgxJ4Cx5ToPPFMwU/s200/DSC01620.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0YqOF8qC-VONKrzpfmMCyO-tu9bd287qGieIPAVkH6HltXR789uO4AIoT77ilBzcLnhhIN6SYaFkk6ElFKJUAPkuqsw9cIYIKnjFk8rUb-Qh8slI9Loub7cPG0yJ4L_tokhuyZv6R-k/s1600/DSC01636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0YqOF8qC-VONKrzpfmMCyO-tu9bd287qGieIPAVkH6HltXR789uO4AIoT77ilBzcLnhhIN6SYaFkk6ElFKJUAPkuqsw9cIYIKnjFk8rUb-Qh8slI9Loub7cPG0yJ4L_tokhuyZv6R-k/s400/DSC01636.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elementary School Reunion!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiYw9VkbEf5JH7kkBHMlHuM9LTICxgUvpghMJqpED8oDIcZ_klPvHDMo3M5aGT9XlaYA8mh0oDyDnEncF-HdyeNfDU6VRgdUtQ3a9rafD9WXBvN2Hw8US6KdVdQ_ylnKsPWjtLDLaATcY/s1600/DSC01641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiYw9VkbEf5JH7kkBHMlHuM9LTICxgUvpghMJqpED8oDIcZ_klPvHDMo3M5aGT9XlaYA8mh0oDyDnEncF-HdyeNfDU6VRgdUtQ3a9rafD9WXBvN2Hw8US6KdVdQ_ylnKsPWjtLDLaATcY/s320/DSC01641.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-h4J903karnQlWO8y5jgb3Cgowp9aVccHgDzVrr_Ef4Eu3WQAsahblYK6N_1C1mh_9uONqu8glIKSAvXHqduVUrT4udiYnhKNDxwtmKhxcmoCgQzMQo7ENQTRBt6X440hPZy5pigFaM/s1600/DSC01726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-h4J903karnQlWO8y5jgb3Cgowp9aVccHgDzVrr_Ef4Eu3WQAsahblYK6N_1C1mh_9uONqu8glIKSAvXHqduVUrT4udiYnhKNDxwtmKhxcmoCgQzMQo7ENQTRBt6X440hPZy5pigFaM/s320/DSC01726.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mummy Range. Beautiful every time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_eAWKdfPoAHZcWOuGEeUjPDUex0i-_cmaeaCvMHXA6v-BetlDlQIQXlZHaHOIVWo0IivQniIVZ8BD6eKbeVKhqTlUvPurVHzbSu-_hxHi2rC70q0g-WO49H98R4KwJc5PXWq5lgiIdI/s1600/DSC01729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_eAWKdfPoAHZcWOuGEeUjPDUex0i-_cmaeaCvMHXA6v-BetlDlQIQXlZHaHOIVWo0IivQniIVZ8BD6eKbeVKhqTlUvPurVHzbSu-_hxHi2rC70q0g-WO49H98R4KwJc5PXWq5lgiIdI/s320/DSC01729.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74H2AIna7YG0I_InPIX855w63n1Qka6idGW7sXG1fpwml6JO0Z1no5auwNKyFlo0KM4NOhFS7elIy7f41mXKVf3Z-Vfb1IsExHs6VCTMlvvIrFxRYjKviYJDU8jimfnUJxDZ1zB9Ppbs/s1600/IMG_7821_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74H2AIna7YG0I_InPIX855w63n1Qka6idGW7sXG1fpwml6JO0Z1no5auwNKyFlo0KM4NOhFS7elIy7f41mXKVf3Z-Vfb1IsExHs6VCTMlvvIrFxRYjKviYJDU8jimfnUJxDZ1zB9Ppbs/s320/IMG_7821_1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photoshoot</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgB9uWl0dUNZ0hKgb-FiblhnAfVgtwofeGkDaFgbjyosvFU1_UF3Cxgsa_Vkj2i0sxLaDyJK7A5Hfn8WekRhzgFBm_RLBVcXIzdoR2xeg_XiMDKQv6aQG0mK4GGGkvymMcStV6T0t77w/s1600/IMG_7822_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgB9uWl0dUNZ0hKgb-FiblhnAfVgtwofeGkDaFgbjyosvFU1_UF3Cxgsa_Vkj2i0sxLaDyJK7A5Hfn8WekRhzgFBm_RLBVcXIzdoR2xeg_XiMDKQv6aQG0mK4GGGkvymMcStV6T0t77w/s320/IMG_7822_1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYaLZvjS4ydRVF0PsXolavpjudmkSkTCrhNQO0CrxKMQR1STEEJJ2sdG0uO9k4nElinWvOl9WgaZyHxzXi1h0Yr3QSyKkXL4oNEmUPPjyXCQzD8K3gKaD-4DcvRBJ6bPfDRArttShA7Ko/s1600/IMG_7849_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYaLZvjS4ydRVF0PsXolavpjudmkSkTCrhNQO0CrxKMQR1STEEJJ2sdG0uO9k4nElinWvOl9WgaZyHxzXi1h0Yr3QSyKkXL4oNEmUPPjyXCQzD8K3gKaD-4DcvRBJ6bPfDRArttShA7Ko/s320/IMG_7849_1.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2iuTTc_zNSL7vqQWkCdwtvoX3zKdcaCbeKp_1t1Qa052rdOAbICWkRhzBJu6VMkMXBI3dZrvd07TW8gzcAUTBx4wPiqKaFVPgdd9Na5lRTN8nQKtQNpIKQvPZQCRva61reUb8orkvyEY/s1600/IMG_7856%252B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2iuTTc_zNSL7vqQWkCdwtvoX3zKdcaCbeKp_1t1Qa052rdOAbICWkRhzBJu6VMkMXBI3dZrvd07TW8gzcAUTBx4wPiqKaFVPgdd9Na5lRTN8nQKtQNpIKQvPZQCRva61reUb8orkvyEY/s320/IMG_7856%252B1.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwOymawATmRZnpqOCtrbSsq1kywVx1njsBzQyd1AbAdjx3lultgYX67qMEM5V_04Bsece2-mKCJvJDeceQfuKmXA5-T1pRuajOyt_0t5xcg44TWoA7Cedro6L_ljGZ3C17uXuEg4uIeo/s1600/DSC01741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwOymawATmRZnpqOCtrbSsq1kywVx1njsBzQyd1AbAdjx3lultgYX67qMEM5V_04Bsece2-mKCJvJDeceQfuKmXA5-T1pRuajOyt_0t5xcg44TWoA7Cedro6L_ljGZ3C17uXuEg4uIeo/s320/DSC01741.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ROSIE NELSON</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnG7IYLe0J6aXKfCGhtOpVNT8pUuz_nfZNVrNuhS5PkHHN4cvtTYgHvZ0biWR2BX5CiR1UF3WDlmY0CwSS6uFhAgbJFxv8BH9_Xel58zIXqrliOPqhjjc4EOXW7IF0JGuRm0UmAcW5PVQ/s1600/DSC01760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnG7IYLe0J6aXKfCGhtOpVNT8pUuz_nfZNVrNuhS5PkHHN4cvtTYgHvZ0biWR2BX5CiR1UF3WDlmY0CwSS6uFhAgbJFxv8BH9_Xel58zIXqrliOPqhjjc4EOXW7IF0JGuRm0UmAcW5PVQ/s320/DSC01760.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She feeds me</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1WPY8BcDN8d_V-jDkfsr18tPS1SxynV5hkA2XQECDeF7MAi6_5Mq11Ij1u_8OAatKxBCKNS_ZFHu5C9RZlfxIM8lEGdlcCznGTH_DQZ9M0UL22I63MUZAfiL6pY7yKXdcyVTSPrWF_g/s1600/DSC01763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1WPY8BcDN8d_V-jDkfsr18tPS1SxynV5hkA2XQECDeF7MAi6_5Mq11Ij1u_8OAatKxBCKNS_ZFHu5C9RZlfxIM8lEGdlcCznGTH_DQZ9M0UL22I63MUZAfiL6pY7yKXdcyVTSPrWF_g/s320/DSC01763.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pikes Peak, I will miss your guidance.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span id="goog_1630309258"></span><span id="goog_1630309259"></span></span></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6976744046382367732.post-68844315472364116622011-08-17T23:42:00.000-07:002011-08-17T23:43:09.329-07:00Off the Block (Plan)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cue the epic music, folks, because IT'S THE FINAL COUNTDOWNNNNN. Less than 10 days to go!</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I left the Springs this morning, leaving behind my first ever apartment, my dear friends, Colorado College, and, of course, the Block Plan. Everything I've come to find familiar, comfortable, and normal is starting to fade away again. For some reason, this round of goodbyes seemed significantly easier than the first set back in April as I was leaving for London, even though this time I am going to be gone longer, will be going into the experience relatively alone (do Facebook friends count as real friends if you know you are going to be friends with them when you meet them?), will have very limited communication between myself and all the people I love, and a myriad of other reasons that would make one think that it would be significantly more difficult for me to peace out of town this time around. Maybe it hasn't hit me yet. Maybe my subconscious mind thinks that I'm just at home for Block Break until next week. For all you Psychology/Biology/Sociology/-ology majors out there, feel free to correct me if my assumption is way off base; I'll just correct your grammar and syntactical structure within your correction of my misassumption. Did you know misassumption was a real word? I didn't until I typed it and didn't see the squiggly red line of error underneath that is also seen on Microsoft Word and the like. At least Blogger identifies it as a real word. I think. I suddenly feel smarter. Cool!</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Block Plan. The defining aspect of my quirky home institution of Colorado College. That is what I miss already more than anything else. That is what is making leaving CC for the time being so difficult. Yes, I certainly miss my friends, but I'll have new friends soon that will be on this adventure with me to keep my social life exciting. A quick reminder to all you readers about the Block Plan, since I haven't really described it in detail since my earliest entries: Colorado College's unique Block Plan, now adopted by two other institutions of higher learning on this continent, challenges students with the premise of taking <b>one class at a time</b>. One class, or "block," is taught to the same group of students by the same professor for 3 1/2 weeks for five days a week for, generally speaking, three hours a day from 9 A.M.-noon. Labs and movie viewings are held in the afternoon. If you're lucky, you might have a professor during a particular block that will start class at 9:15 or 9:30, which may not sound like much, but makes a HUGE difference on the Block Plan. You see, because everything is so scrunched into just under a month, time takes on a different meaning and level of importance at CC. Days are measured by where they are in the block or within the year. 1st Wednesday, 2nd Tuesday, 3rd Friday, 4th Monday, 2nd Block, 5th Block, and more are common terms thrown around on campus. So far, the Block Plan has given my college experience an extremely different flavor and zest than all of my friends at other schools.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The nice thing about my goodbyes back in April was that I wasn't going off the Block Plan for quite some time. Now, after 11 straight blocks of classes, it's time to move on to a new challenge: the Semester Plan. It's going to be weird, I'm sure. I'll be the only person on the ship with this specific challenge. I'm taking a break from a place where the vast majority of campus is out of class at noon and on their way to lunch in Rastall or Benji's. I'm taking a break from being forced, whether joyfully or disdainfully, to pay perfect attention for three hours every morning on one specific subject. I'm taking a break from papers that have to be conceived, typed, edited, and turned in in under 24 hours. I'm taking a break from reading entire novels in one or two days. I'm taking a break from the "First Day Jitters" every month. I'm taking a break from total immersion. I'm taking a break from all the bizarre idiosyncrasies and peculiarities of the Block Plan. So, I suppose it's just about time then to be a "normal college student." Four classes at a time? I can........try it. I hope everything the Block Plan has taught me (how to plow through a paper in one sitting, speed reading, intellectual finesse, among others) will come in handy when I have four different things to focus on at once.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Except I'm not really off the Block Plan. I still have to finish my final paper for my C Block class, an independent reading on Peter Pan in a 19th century context. Guess how interesting it is. Really, c'mon. Guess.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not.</span></div></div>London_Calling_Sam_At_Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10022504409350995900noreply@blogger.com0