Pictures!!!!!!

Here is my Flickr site if you want to check out some of my favorite shots:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/glamaris/

i think i'm turning japanese...

Heels, hair and Harajuku fashion, the three are synonymous with Tokyo. While walking the streets of the largest city in the world, Tokyo proved to classify itself as the trendiest city as well. One after another, the teased manes of bleached hair crossed the busy intersections beneath the fluorescent lights and continually flashing advertisements. The men and women strut straight off the pages of Vogue and onto the sidewalks attempting to battle for the most creative ensemble. Influenced by J-Pop fashion icons and futuristic aspiration, the aesthetics of the Japanese are a shocking sight.
I am baffled by the way the women walk…clearly they have not watched enough “Sex and the City” to learn the famous Carrie Bradshaw run (looking elegant and classy while exhibiting the latest pair of Manolo Blanhiks). Only about 1 in every 20 women that I passed on the streets was not in stilettos. I myself love wearing heels and am all for dressing up day to day, but before I venture off with my 3 inch height boosts, I usually make sure that I can walk normally in them without stumbling or tripping myself. I could not quite figure out if clumsiness was due to incorrect sizing of shoes, flat-footedness or just plain lack of coordination. No matter the cause, the women were still able to keep it together and look fabulous all the same.
The hair is a whole other topic for discussion. No joke, I passed a woman whose hair was teased so high that the circumference of her crown was larger than her bottom. Many appeared to look like dolls, made up for show with heads slightly too large for their bodies. The men participated in this phenomenon as well as they spiked and parted their hair in ways that I never knew to be possible. I am not going to lie…they may not have looked proportioned, but they all looked fantastic.
Clothing was an assortment of styles fused into a brand new taste. Basically the recipe for a good outfit was to grab the most mix-matched things in the closet and throw them together for a creative display. There were layers upon layers, knee socks galore and more trench coats than I knew were manufactured. I really believe that the trends need to fly across the Pacific and make their way to the States…maybe that will be my mission when the voyage is complete- to educate on world fashion.

Order is very important in Japan. The streets are spotless, beggars are not to be found and everyone appears to have been freshly washed. It is such a difference than America. I cannot remember a time where I felt the pressure to be so neat. There is no jaywalking in Japan…it is not that you will get in trouble, it is simply just not done. The trains and subways are testaments to technology and precision as they can take you anywhere and you feel safe, clean and incredibly on schedule while traveling. There is even order to boarding the transportation as you line up in front of the doors prior to the arrival of the chosen mode of transport and as the doors open a parting occurs to let the travelers off before you replace their bodies on board.
There are so many things that are just culturally different in Japan that seemed so bizarre to me. For instance, when purchasing anything at a store or restaurant, the money or form of payment was not to be handed to the cashier, instead you placed it on a tray in front of them then they took it from there. I thought slot machines were only super-popular in Las Vegas, but in Japan they are around every corner along with the comic stores, karaoke rooms and sticker booths. And the vending machines…let me tell you, they were so pretty with the cans on display that they called from across the street begging to be admired.
There is so much in Japan that we can learn from and take home with us just as Japan could learn from the States. Maybe a few extra trash cans would be nice just so you didn’t have to walk 6 blocks to dispose of a can and ATMs that took VISA cards would be much appreciated and great time savers. The world is a learning cycle and everyone has something to offer.


I did many things with my time in Japan. I observed the beauty of the Himeji Castle. I traveled up Mt. Rokko and took the cable cars and ropeways to see the nature and sheep that inhabited the Cheese Castle. I walked the bustling streets of Tokyo. Everything I did was wonderful and interesting, but nothing compared to my time at the “Muscle Musical”.
Traveling with my pal Vince, we wandered the regions of Tokyo looking for evening entertainment. While on the subway making our way to the next stop on our list, we saw the signs for a new show called “Muscle Musical”. The posters boasted a large group of fit Japanese twenty-somethings doing handstands and acrobatics under colorful lights. After reading that the show opened only 4 days prior and that the theatre happened to be at the next subway stop, Vince and I decided to hunt down the show and make it our mission to be in the audience for that evening.
With only 2 hours before the show started we began wandering aimlessly asking anyone and everyone if they knew where the “Muscle Musical” was playing. It appeared as though we were the only ones who had ever heard of it. Somehow with a stroke of luck we spotted lamppost banners along a connecting street and we followed our signals to an officer who finally pointed us in the right direction. We made it to the theatre and bought the tickets for 75 bucks a pop hoping that it would be well worth it. In a matter of time we would find out…
I don’t think I have ever spent my money better! The show started out with cast members dressed as monkeys and other jungle animals enjoying their daily life of picking at fleas. All is happy until a giant space ship disturbs the nature and space people appear in tight metallic shredded costumes. Don’t worry though, as soon as the animals and the space cadets touch fingers, an electric energy shocks them all into friendship that consists of gymnastics and other flashy acrobatics into a demonstration of pure randomness and delight. I was hardly able to control my silent laughter and I am pretty sure that my body convulsions we shaking Vince’s seat next to me.
Scene after scene, routine after routine the show was a manifestation of high-energy fun. There were cycling tricks, synchronized swimming bouts and millions of costumes changes that established a crazy sense of Japanese entertainment culture. I am positive that in the States this obscene and bizarre show would not even make it to the stage, but in Tokyo the crowd was wowed and amazed by the failed gymnasts bopping to the techno beat. The hodge podge of acts were hilarious and full of dramatic emotion and as funny as the whole thing was, the routines were impressive showing of choreography and stamina. As I told Vince, somehow I never pictured Japanese men to be so fit but after seeing about 50 sets of perfect abs I will never doubt again.
Everything from the haphazard assortment of performances to the neon hair colors of the cast members was amusing. The sets were well done, there were points with audience participation and everyone seemed to have a great time. Vince and I left the show with the largest grins on our faces. Along with many others we chanted the slogan of “J-U-N-G-L-E Jungle!” and acted out the corresponding hand gestures to the rhythm as we exited the theatre. I still smile at the thought of the opening sequence of the animals and aliens and I am pretty sure that anytime I think of my time in Japan the “Muscle Musical” will always be present.

a tribute to antoinette and the fatherland

My father is still a mystery to me. It seems like every year I learn something new about him that he casually forgot to mention in my 20 years of upbringing. Growing up I always knew he was different…a little more reserved than some other dads. I remember realizing the difference in his ethnicity at a young age and deciding that that was why he didn’t cheer as loud at games or like to go and watch the comedies that were the hits of the Friday night big screens. Really race had nothing to do with that…
It wasn’t until I was in high school did I find out that he worked for the FBI. He was the youngest undercover drug officer hired at the time straight out of college. He had been held at gunpoint, he had a few big time drug busts under his belt, he had an Afro and it explained all his connections with government friends. I don’t remember why he told us but I remember the realization of why our phone number was never listed throughout my childhood.
I always knew that he came from very little. My grandparents in Hawaii have lived in the same low-income housing apartments ever since they emigrated from Hong Kong when he was 11. There are 7 children in his family and they all fit in a small 2-bedroom apartment. The siblings all attended the poor school in Honolulu known for fights and gangs. My uncle would tell us stories of them throwing stones at other boys on their way home from school.
It is funny the things that your memory decides to hold on to. I can vividly remember my dad coming home from work in his business suit when I was about 8 years old. He reached on top of the refrigerator and pulled down the movie “Return of Jafar”. My brother and I were so excited. I remember pretending that we were dancing Chinese dragons playing under our penguin-patterned blanket. I remember practicing breaking boards outside when I was training for my black belt. I remember him mowing our giant lawn and playing catch with my brother.
As I rifle through the pages of my memories I have many flashes of fun times. My nickname of “Toe” that he always called me, his yelling “ish” as he ran after us as children, his falling asleep on the couch with his mouth open wide. As I am growing up I am learning more and more about my father, slowly piecing together the puzzle that is his life. Just last week he told me that he lived in Saigon for 2 years when he was young…something that I never would have guessed if not for my visiting the port. It was something that even my mother did not know.

In Hong Kong I finally was able to learn of his beginnings. I always say that you can tell a lot from a person after seeing their home and after years of waiting I was finally able to do that. Still situated on 202 Nathan Road, my father’s old apartment was invisible to the naked eye. As the busy Chinese men in their flashy business suits walked to work weaving their way through the madness of shoppers, my father’s old home sat situated on top of what is now a cosmetics store. Without purpose, it would go unnoticed. Amidst the skyscrapers and grand architecture, the complex stood at 5 stories small. Like in the tales of Harry Potter, the door appeared hidden by magic, only waiting to be seen by those who took the time to look.
I ventured up the tight staircase wedge between two well-lit stores. The concrete was worn and begged for attention. I saw the mailboxes lining the entrance. I walked the 4 flights to peek inside the door. It is such a funny feeling to finally have placed an image of this foreign land I always pictured in my mind. Of course 40 years later time has passed and the city has changed, but still the scent is left behind.


It was such an amazing experience to walk the roads of Kowloon and to see the Peninsula Hotel where my grandpa used to play drums with his band. I feel like I have a new understanding of my past and a better grasp of where my father came from. Seeing his place just added to his success. I better understand his determination in life and his drive to provide everything possible for his family. I am so lucky to have had the opportunity to explore his home and I know that soon my brother will find the chance as well.
I am looking forward to the next bit of information that will I will randomly be dealt with- always shocking, forever interesting. One day in Hong Kong was not enough, but I am excited to know that next time I go I may be bringing someone home for visit that is long past due.

I can never live in China. It is quite the disappointing realization. My body does not agree with the haze that drapes over the colorless buildings and the Chinese snow that interlaces with the trees. This “snow”, more commonly referred to as cotton, was continually blowing with the wind and causing my nose to become very unhappy. I have never had to deal with allergies before, and I know that as long as I keep away from China I most likely won’t have to ever again. But the allergies weren’t the only depressing feature of the country. I have never been in a place that screamed COMMUNISM so blatantly. If I were to picture Russia I think I would think of China with white people. No color. Cold. Bland uniforms. Only in Russia the snow would be made from ice. Hmmm. It is interesting how my perception of the world can change so fast.

'old habits dye hard' and other tales from nam

I am a hair color addict. I aware of my problem and I love it. I mean there are no drugs or hazardous things involved with my habit so really it is harmless. By doing such a simple thing as changing hair a shade lighter or darker can have an immediate effect on the way you feel and it is always fun for a quick fix of spontaneity.
The stretch at sea had been getting to me…my roots had all grown out from my last dye job. Since I had finished with a long day of art shopping I made a snap decision to step into a Vietnamese salon and make a drastic change. There was no research involved so although I had passed many nicer looking salons around Saigon, I chose the most hole-in-the-wall place with a great view of the busy life outside. Upon entering the salon I noticed the lack of paint on the walls, the mirrors hung with no surrounding decoration and the chairs that were way passed their years. It was perfect. I asked the ladies to color my hair and within minutes I was seated waiting while my color was concocted.
Entering off the streets came my colorist. I would say he was about 24 with red-tinted hair and no English vocabulary. I forgot to mention the fact that there was no music in the salon and although there were about 4 girls working there (or at least sitting reading magazines) none of them were speaking to each other. I am pretty sure that I could hear a pin drop if I felt so inclined to try. So the transformation began. It was the most bizarre way of dying hair that I had ever experienced. He would put color in after color and when I though I was finally finished with it all I came to the surprise that that was just the base and the highlights still had to be done. Understand that I had been sitting in silence for about an hour and a half with 4 girls whispering about me and the sounds of the streets keeping a muted soundtrack of motorbikes zooming around.
Once the base color was done the experience became much more interesting. With the appearance of 5 new customers and the switch of stylists the salon suddenly became a bustle of noises. Through out the next hour and a half I had 6 different women working on my hair- coloring, shampooing and then drying and straightening. My original colorist stepped out of the salon to partake in a game of chess outside with a random shoe shiner. Outside there was a little girl attempting to jump rope but accidentally lifting her leg so high that she appeared as though she was training for hurdles and ended up stepping on the rope each try. With the new customers came new conversation. I was able to meet a girl from Oregon who teaches English in Thailand. This was a perfect encounter for me since I have been researching my endless possibilities for TEFL and ESL programs. Then I met some travelers from England. Although their accents were more fascinating then their personalities it was still a welcome entertainment.
By the time it was all finished I came out looking incredibly Asian…you know, when their light hair color is obviously not natural. But I love it- for now. At least until May when I reach home and get to change it again!

Shopping in the Vietnamese markets is full on sensory overload. In my multiple trips to these busy centers I barely bought a thing since I was so overwhelmed. The clothes, fabrics, sunglasses and shoes together closed in on me making me feel incredibly claustrophobic. Now I know that his is prime bargaining territory where many find their best deals on fake Gucci bags and Polo shirts, but that’s not my style so I didn’t bother. The thing that amused me most was the reaction of the women to my presence. I could not tell if it was because they could tell I was part Asian or if they just thought I was pretty, but I have never felt more flattered. These women would point at me as I approached their stalls, whispering to one another. Surprisingly, before they started to heckle me about cheap prices and good deals they would tell me that I was so beautiful and stroke my face. It was bizarre…they reached out for me from a distance waiting for me to get close…I swear it is the new hair color.


I have never been a babysitter. I don’t deal with whining kids well and I am a completely impatient person. With this being so, I am shocked at how I am feeling now, two days after parting Vietnam and the Tam Binh Orphanage that I visited.
With my class about HIV and AIDS, we visited the orphanage to take a group of kids out for a day of fun to an amusement park. Upon arrival we were greeted by 25 little children, running and screaming, so excited for us to be there. Immediately a small girl between the age of 3 and 4 came up to me, arms extended, ready to be held. I was unaware at the time, but soon enough I found that I would not be putting her down for the rest of the afternoon.
Her name was Nhe. She wore a pink and green Hello Kitty dress and her hair was in perfect pigtails. She had a sly grin on her face that turned into a toothy smile as soon as she got what she wanted. Before we departed for the park all of us students played with the kids, handing out stickers that soon covered any free space of skin on the children and playing catch with their new blow up toys. Nhe did not want to take part in the games; she preferred to stay in my arms and make me take her to wherever she pointed picking up stickers for her along the way. I must tell you that I am not very strong, so every 2 minutes I had to transfer her from one hip to the other as she would get very upset if I tried to put her down.
After viewing the facilities of the orphanage we all sat on the bus waiting for the kids to come and join us. Each child now donned a neon yellow hat to make them a uniform group and for us to keep track of them easily. Nhe ran over to my empty seat immediately with the biggest smile on her face. I had to lift her tiny frame on to the seat next to me and situate her body so that she would not fall off in the five-minute journey to the park.
Throughout our day at the park we went on rides with the kids, took them through the most disturbing haunted house, had lunch with them and then finished the adventure off with an even more disturbing showing from performing monkeys and the most bizarre and sad zoo that I have ever seen. Even though for our culture it was creepy to say the least and not my idea of fun, the kids along with the other Vietnamese people loved it all. But this story is not about the park, it is about the child.
I am only 20 years old and am in no way ready to have a child. Even though I joke about it often and my mother and I already have dresses saved for my future daughter I am still a reasonable and smart person who knows to wait until I am stable and responsible. Although my mom gives me tips on how to take care of kids every time she sees and inadequate mother (not keeping a hat on her child in the winter or obviously not supporting their heads correctly) I still have not had to put her advice to good use. During my visit I found that I had this unexplainable connection with Nhe that didn’t require any work rather I just knew how to take care of her.
I could not understand her verbal language but that did not mean that I couldn’t understand her. Even though she spoke Vietnamese and I spoke English I always knew what she wanted, when she needed water, when she had to be spoon fed when she would not eat. Fellow students commented on our strange connection and how it seemed as though we were mother and daughter. She did not want attention or help from anyone else except for me and I did not worry about anyone else but her. As soon as I left her with two other girls while I went to buy more water she immediately became upset and started to cry until she was released and allowed to accompany me.
I truly cannot express the way I feel about my time with her, as the relationship was so foreign to me. She cried as she was taken from my arms at the end of the day and I was deeply saddened not knowing what is to become of her. Although the orphanage was very clean and seemed to have a great staff it is just not enough knowing that these kids don’t have parents to love them and care for them constantly. In addition to growing up in an orphanage, Nhe and the other children were all growing up being HIV positive. Although times are changing they still live in a country where stigma about the disease frightens many. They don’t get to go to public school and are basically being raised separate from the community.
The kids don’t understand why they have to take pills daily or why they only get to leave the orphanage on special occasions. They are being raised with a false impression of the world not knowing how the average daily life functions and the interaction outside the gates of their little guarded community. I want to help. I just need to find a way and wait for stigma to dissipate.

oooo hah for borneo

Bhong was in a coma for three months. After having his car shot by enemies while serving with the Malaysian Armed Forces, he miraculously survived while his driver and assistant died at the scene. Bhong lay in his hospital bed unaware of the world around him. As time passed his soul struggled with life and decided to let go. When he died he entered heaven. Bhong witnessed his friends and family weeping over his body, he met up with old friends who had passed on years before and he went to enter the gates of the heavenly kingdom. Upon reaching the gates, Bhong asked the attendant to let him in. Instead of a warm welcome to his new resting place, the attendant served him a glass of water and gave him directions for a path that Bhong should follow. After following the orders Bhong found himself alive and awake, returned from his coma and rejuvenated. “You cannot fear death” Bhong told me, “for God decides when it is time and no one should be afraid”.
Bhong was a 52-year-old Chinese Malaysian. He had a prominent scar on his right arm, which was a remnant from his 68 stitches. And along with that wound he had steel pins in his face and neck, although no one would be able to guess it from his youthful features. As my guide in Borneo, Bhong was a prime resource for colorful tales, useful survival information and opinions about life. “If you are stranded in the jungle do not look to the sun for direction, follow the water for you will surely find a village along a stream”… Bhong began his survival tips, “Only eat what the animals eat, or else it may be poisonous and deceiving” and “don’t drink the water from the stream as there may be poisonous roots, only drink water from the vines”.
As our guide for 2 days, Bhong acted as a father figure. Surprised to find himself in charge of 7 young American ladies, Bhong completed the job with determination and took it upon himself to guard and protect us from all evils (including curious Malaysian men). Bhong chauffeured us around the Sarawak region for hours on end acting as a soccer dad taking his whole troop on a trip. We visited some orangutan, ate some local food and then traveled to stay with an Iban tribe in a traditional longhouse. I have no idea where the village was. All I know is that we were close to the Indonesian border and it was 2 hours from modern day civilization.
The longhouse played home to 24 families that formed the tribe. The house was over 50 years old and was a long stretch of rooms built atop stilts. The Chief was a fascinating man whose name I can no longer remember because I could not pronounce it. He was 88 years old and although he appeared frail with age, he was a powerful Iban warrior in his past. His body was tattooed all over including the shields on both shoulder (the sign of a warrior) and a tattoo down his throat (the sign of a head hunter). The Chief had cut the heads off of Japanese enemies from years ago when they invaded Malaysia and it was a kill or be killed world. The heads of the casualties are still strung across his door, and the hairs of his victims are displayed on his sword sheath with a blood stained blade beneath.
My stay with the Iban was interesting to say the least. Deciding ahead of time that I was going to “rough it” like I did in India, I brought not showering toiletries and only on change of clothes for my 4 days of travel…bad idea. I have never smelled so foul in my life. I was not expecting to be caught in a jungle downpour, hiking through the mud and being shown the village down a river on a thin boat in a rainstorm. But hey, it would not have been an adventure without those details. The people of Malaysia are very kind. This was the first country where I was stared at everywhere I went for they found this tall white girl very interesting. It was funny because the people I met could tell that I was part Chinese (something that rarely occurs in the states) and they looked at me as though I was a completely foreign object. It did not bother me though as I found walking the streets familiar to walking within Chinatown when visiting my grandma or like shopping in the Asian food stores with my dad. It was just that it was not a store or a small area of a city rather these people composed their country.
I was pleased to find my favorite Asian candies, my favorite soybean drink and lychee fruit everywhere. I ate my food with chopsticks and drank my tea and although the country was completely foreign it felt a bit like home…funny how that happens.

I have had an epiphany. As the people in Malaysia were fascinated with me, this foreign white girl walking the streets of Kuching, I began to think about how it would be in the United States. It is all about the diversity that I grew up around whether it be completely significant or not, but because there are so many mixed races at home and so many various ethnicities sharing communities we no longer stare at the foreign or different from self. The Malaysians see the Chinese, Malay and Indian but the white European races are rare. So when a group of 7 young white women walk around it is a very odd spectacle that is not often seen. At home I do not think twice about seeing a Japanese family, Chinese, Indian, Muslim…the list goes on yet their appearance does not phase me as the Malaysian were phased by me. It was a very interesting aspect of a more secluded culture.

tidbits from india

I still have not been able to process everything that I saw in India. It was such an amazing country with beautiful people and I cannot explain all the emotions that I felt throughout my stay. After the YMCA visit I had one day before I left for a three-night homestay in a rural village. On that free day I went with Semester at Sea to Kancheepuram, the city of temples, and to Mamallapuram, the main city for silk weaving. That day was nice just to get out and drive through India and being able to see the countryside and some cities besides Chennai. By the way, the streets of Chennai are like a circus gone wild. Traveling through the roads into town was like a video game come to life. There were no rules, and it was a race to the finish line. On the roads the dividing line played no part for it was expected that with a honk of the horn you could switch sides and pass the player in front of you. The streets bustled with green and red buses that were stuffed to the brim. They packaged the sweaty bodies in tight with women on one side and the men on the other. The buses shared the streets with the cars, the cars with the motorcycles, the motorcycles with the rickshaws, the rickshaws with the bicycles. Oh, and not to forget the pedestrians that weaved their way along with the flow. Everyone drove with a determined end in sight and they would run over you if you did not move. The horn on their wheel was their cure-all, for when they honked they gave their warning of their illegal move and proceeded on with business. Surprisingly I was not uncomfortable with the driving in any sense. I enjoyed the open air from the tiny rickshaws and I found pleasure in their weaving in and out on the roads. There was no hostility in the driving, as the race did not seem competitive, rather it was a fun way to proceed with getting from one place to the other.
Once we made it out of the Chennai area the landscape turned to fields of green with the occasional grazing ox on the side of the road eating the scraps of garbage that had been collected from over the years. It was such an interesting concept to me that the country is so beautiful yet there was so much trash. I know it may sound odd, but in a way it fit the scenery for when passing the shops and buildings on the streets the people that bustled throughout the city wore beautiful colors. The women all wore saris that somehow complemented every womanly curve, and with each color imaginable, they created a Crayola assortment of life that lit up the roads. The garbage played its role as well as it was just as colorful and added a punch to the ornaments that decorated the streets.
Kancheepuram was interesting. The temples reminded me of my own Roman and Greek history as the reliefs carved into the structures depicted scenes of processions of people. With my classical history I know that the temples that are now white washed stone and marble were once upon a time painted with bright colors, but I had never been able to fully imagine the way they would be…that is until now. The temples in India were so colorful with their reds, blues, greens, oranges and yellows, that they seemed almost cheesy or overdone. If not painted the stone carvings were phenomenal. One of the temples was so tall, like a layer cake with 40 tiers. The temple had monkeys playing on the outside carvings, which was very much like a vision from the jungle book.
In Mamallapuram I saw an ancient shore temple as well as this giant stone ball that is oddly placed due to gravity. It is way to difficult to try and explain the phenomenon, but it was like an 80 foot wide marble floating on a hill. This monument was within a park that had monkeys and vendors swarming. The vendors used their guilty stories to make you buy their goods and the monkeys just wreaked havoc running around scaring the tourists. One man was dressed in an outfit appearing like a gypsy and he had a monkey on a leash. This monkey was quite possibly the most frightening thing I have ever seen. It had on clothes, makeup and jewelry. Of course I felt sorry for it, performing all day to make a few rupees, but I mean it was creepy. As Vince put it perfectly, “That is no Abu!”
Speaking of Vince, he, Kara and I were together for the next 72 hours. The three of us knew each other through mutual friends on the ship, but it wasn’t until our homestay in Erode did we get to know each other and form what I like to refer to as the tripod. The night after the temple visits we all left for the overnight train, set for our journey to the rural south of India. The train station had people packed in like sardines, waiting for their destinations to appear on the overhead board. After a frantic following of our group leaders to our boarding platform we boarded the train to Erode and found ourselves in a private sleeper car that fit 15 or so people. The train was no luxury by any means, but it was suitable for our needs and fun to experience the local means of travel.
Because we were not yet tired and everyone in our car wanted to get to know one another, we played a name game (Lydia- Lysol, Marissa- Macaroni Salad, Kara- Kangaroo, Vince- Inappropriate…) and then we resorted to the ever-pleasing game of Go Fish. A train guard came to talk to us crazy kids who were awake as the other passengers slept away and we tried to explain to him where we came from and where we were going. With the language barrier and Vince’s lies the man walked away believing that we were 700 students living on a fishing boat that went around the world and we went fishing all day long. It was hilarious, but I am sure you had to be there to find it entertaining…
Once we finally settled into bed we parted to our respective compartments. I was in a section with four beds- two bunk beds, and across Vince and Taylor slept on bunks that ran across the hall (I know this makes no sense). There were no doors in the compartments, only curtains, so we pushed our luggage under the more spacious four bed curtained rooms and slept with our passports as theft is common. I was just waiting for someone to reach through the curtain that night and grab at my feet hoping that they could find some treasure but that didn’t happen and I slept just fine for the 4 hours that we had left.
When we arrived in Erode our group of 30 was split up 10 people going to one place and 20 to the other. I was in the group of 20 that went to Jayaramapuram, which was a farming village outside of Erode. Our cars held 10 people apiece but somehow mine only had like 6 of us as passengers that began the union of the tripod. We went to the farm and stayed in the home of Mr. Jayaraman, the man the village is named after. The house was open and spacious with rooms with floor mats lay out for beds and an indoor atrium to have tea and conversation.
We took tours of their farm, seeing the different fruits they grew then distributed throughout the community. They basically provided stablity for the town as the fruit they grew was sold to the village and the coconut hide was turned to rope and the sugarcane was exported. We visited their local factories as well as school and weaving facilities. After we returned I had an afternoon nap before heading out to their market.
The village market was filled with colors- the sarees, the fabric, the fruit and vegetables. We each made some purchases without the hassle of bargaining as the community was not used to tourists and the idea of bartering and cheating money out of the unsuspecting. It was a very different experience to walk around the village market rather than a city; it offered a completely different feeling.
That night we ate our dinners, which by the way were so great. I forgot to mention the point that we ate with our hands, sat on the floor and walked around barefoot. It was fabulous. I think I may take to it upon returning home. I really enjoyed the Indian food. The spices were great, we had a different variety of banana at each meal and we ate off of giant banana leaves that played the role of plates.
We stayed up late that night discussion politics and religion with our younger host Purni. Random conversations are as follow:
“The US should leave the conflict in the Middle East and let it continue,” said Purni, “for without the conflict in the middle east the US would be in trouble”. My host for 3 days was a mother of two and a modern woman. Still dressed in a saree but with a short, non-traditional haircut, she was a well-educated woman and a prime resource for discussion. When the topic of politics came up she passionately expressed a very international view about the world and looked at the interest of the other. She informed us that America must pull out of the war and quit wasting our money because if we were to succeed and peace came across the Middle East, the US would have bigger problems ahead. The conflict between the Sunnis and the Shiites has been around for centuries. Their conflict along with the numerous others have been power struggles that make up their history. If they were to all get along and unite, they would be a force that the world could not destroy. If all the conflict were resolved, the US, along with the rest of the world, would be under the control of the Middle East powers. It just makes you think…Also with religion Purni said of Hinduism that God is like electricity. He takes on different forms in different situations but you cannot see or explain where it comes from. This was Purni’s explanation of the Hindu God that they believed in. It was fascinating to learn that they believe in all gods including the modern day Christian god for historically speaking it makes sense that the one God took on each different form for each different set of people. This one transformative God takes the form of the war god, the good luck god, the god of aggression or love and many others. It is up to the person to form a more personal attachment with the God that they would like to identify with, but they believe that they are all one in the same.
We spoke about arranged marriage, Saddam Hussein, President Bush, US war funding and other controversial topics. It was very interesting and very hard to pull myself away from once it reached 1 am.
The second day we left the farm and went into Erode visiting a few schools including one for children with polio. It was definitely a memorable experience and it was amazing to see the children perform tae kwon do and dances for us. We received bindis and had jasmine flowers put in our hair so even though we were not Indians, we were decorated as though we were.
One of our guides took a liking to Vince. I should mention that Vince is in the process of growing out a very sparse mustache and our guide (who was referred to as Moosh, which means mustache) had a very large and filled out one. So once Vince asked about tips to grow out a great mustache like Moosh’s, the man was intrigued by him. Soon enough he was holding Vince’s hand or rested his around his shoulder, as male affection is very common and was a sign of friends. I understand it is a cultural thing, but even if Vince will never admit it his arm looked so limp and awkward every time Moosh took hold. Haha…it was so funny. Also, evidently Vince looks like Dhoni, a famous Indian cricket player, so for the rest of the stay he went around saying that he was Dhoni and with his fake Indian accent he even we so far as to tell some school children that is who he was and as soon as they heard the dispersed to grab their cricket equipment. When they returned Vince fessed up and offered jellybeans in return for his fib.
With the rest of the day we were shuttle around from place to place seeing a pit weaving center and a medicinal factory and then finally we returned to another sleeper train. This time we were not alone in or compartment and Kara and I had to take the wall bunks. Not ready for bed but forced to keep our chatter to a minimum Vince, Kara and I all scrunched onto one bed and closed the curtain so that we could gossip about our time.
On the last day in Chennai a group of us went shopping. We started out with 8, but because the rickshaws are crazy and the drivers are liars, we were split up. Molly, Vince and I began our shopping and miraculously we found Kara later on. We bought some music, found a cricket magazine with “Vince” in it (aka Dhoni) and bought the rest of our random items like hand beaded shoes and bags. We later found a great antique shop that Vince and I took a great liking to as the owner told us stories and loved the fact that we loved antiques.
While shopping most of the time I didn’t care enough to bargain because it was so cheap. Vince found it entertaining to fight with the people and even said to one carpet seller that if he wanted to spend 60 dollars on a carpet he would be better of laying down 60 one-dollar bills and making a carpet of money because he would never walk on it. Where he comes up with these comebacks I have no idea, but the were worth the laughs.
India was fabulous. My favorite stop by far. Ah I have so much more…hopefully I will write it down.

'it's fun to stay at the YMCA'

It is funny how something as small as a smile can connect two people in such a way that is ever changing. This seemingly insignificant gesture, when done honestly, can leave a lasting impression. Today I made many invisible bonds with the young children of the Madras YMCA Center for Destitute Boys. Throughout the course of the day, each timid glance turned toothy grin has been etched in my mind as memories that I shall forever cherish.
I set out on this morning’s service visit not knowing what to expect only hoping for an opportunity to interact with local people. Without holding my expectations too high, I was anxious to start the trip and excited for my small group number of only 8 students. Once we were all piled into the van that would be our magic carpet for the day, we learned of our itinerary and the pleasant anticipation inside my stomach grew. Our guide, Mr. Jeevakumar told us that we were to visit 4 different YMCA and YWCA centers throughout our 9 hour day. Without any further details, we set out on our adventure and into the realm of Chennai.
Passing through immigrations we entered the busy streets swarming with traffic composed of cars, rickshaws, bicycles, pedestrians and the occasional bull, goat or horse. We flew past the street-side vendors selling their fruits and treats, past the gigantic billboards that boasted advertisements for music, and past the long stretch of sand littered with bodies. After a dangerous yet effective U-turn, we entered the gated community of the YMCA Center for Destitute Boys, the act which began my series of smiles.
From a distance I could see the kids, in their uniformed red YMCA shirts, frantically running toward their main center in order to beat our car to the entrance. Before leaving our vehicle, Mr. Jeevakumar informed us that we would be spending the next 3 hours with these boys which thrilled my anticipation and transformed it into excitement. We made our way into the large open center of the YMCA and found 100 young boys seated around tables waiting for us 8 girls to take our seats in the front of the room. Feeling like a cross between a member of a panel of judges and a member of a royal family, I took my seat along with the other students and overlooked the shy that returned our observation.
Within minutes the ice was broken as songs were performed to us in small groups and applause and laughter broke the silence. While listening to these young boys sing I glanced around the room and made eye contact with a boy seated at a table near the front. I smiled at him hoping not to make him uncomfortable and in return I was granted the biggest grin. This happened many times throughout our afternoon performance swap where the boys would sing and then we would treat them to a off-key rendition of “If You’re Happy and You Know It…”, a song that I have not sung since the days when recess was considered a critical part of my education. These boys, who ranged from ages 5 to 16, were all from destitute homes. They were placed into the YMCA by the Indian government after their parents died or a single parent could not manage to support their child. These 100 boys lived were dispersed into four cottages that each housed 25 boys. With new guidance, the boys work on their education, are cared for by mother-figures, and are encouraged to succeed in careers by offering them vocational training in engineering, metalwork and weaving. The boys were clearly well behaved and through their support team of giving adults, they were offered new confidence in replace of a broken past.

Mr. Jeevakumar explained the many trials that these boys had suffered and presented the new assistance and life that they now were leading. Moving from songs to questions, Mr. Jeevakumar translated the boys’ inquiries about American fruit, our wildlife, politics and the crazy life aboard a ship. Their questions were mature for their childish figures and demonstrated the difference of their culture in comparison to ours which is obsessed with mass media and the Hollywood minute. They wanted to know what we studied and what we did for hobbies back in the United States. Answering that I enjoyed ballet as my pastime, I was later trapped in a corner with 30 excited boys screaming “dance!” at me until I appeased them with a few pirouettes and leg lifts.
After they were fully satisfied by our information about the states, the boys stood to retreat into their respective cottages. As they slowly exited the room the first young boy who returned my smile walked up to my table and whispered, “Please come and visit me”. With another quick smile and a frenzied escape the room fell silent as the boys positioned themselves in their rooms and awaited our arrival. Being only 8 students and having 3 hours to play, we were set free with no instructions but to enjoy ourselves. “Split up” said Mr. Jeevakumar, “Have some fun!” With no further comments I felt as though I was venturing into the jungle, an unknown atmosphere that I had no way to prepare for.

As soon as I entered the first cottage I was taken aback by how clean the place was. The two large rooms were composed of neat little beds each with a boy seated upon it. As soon as I waved and said hello, the hours of smiles, dance, and photos began. With no adult supervision and being alone in this adventure, the boys flocked over to me with excitement over this casual contact with a foreign female. With my camera they begged to take pictures and were gracious at the chance to pose for portraits and take turns playing photographer. I must say that without their help I would not have had documentation that I was there as they were as fascinated with my “super hairstyle” as I was with their flexible figures and toothy grins. The boys fought for my attention and began hanging from the ceiling rafters becoming monkeys in the jungle that I had first feared.
They were captivated by my English and imitated the phrases they found amusing such as “oh wow” and “careful”. I was forced into performing the Macarena, which in another world would have been a humiliating chance for future blackmail, but there it was just plain fun. I found the boy who had earlier beckoned me to visit and I learned his name was Moon…or at least that was his English name. They boys Tamil names were easy for me to reproduce after mimicking each syllabyl, but after letting a few minutes pass I would forget how to say them since their pronunciation and sounds were so foreign to me. Names such as Manikandan, Kasdura and Sivasundarun are not as simple to remember when there are 40 children crowded among 1 girl and I was feeling overwhelmed.

But I had an amazing time. Moon and Kasdura stayed at my side until it was time for me to leave. They held my hands with a sense of affection and need for female love. The smiles scattered throughout my photographs will forever be souveniers of my time with them. I cannot forget the feelings that accompanied these smiles and I will forever hope for the best in their futures.

ey ey captain!

Captain Jeremy Kingston walks with an air of superiority. He appears aware of the fact that he has control over the lives of hundreds of young passengers and he his proud of it. As he stepped into classroom #5 this morning, the Captain, donning his crisp white uniform, had no idea what he was about to get himself into. With a reserved yet pleasant look upon his face he found himself to be the center of an interview and with the following 30 minutes he divulged information he may not have been prepared to share. Surprisingly calm before the firing squad, the Captain took a seat and was primed for the attack. “What do you do in your morning meetings?”… “Why work at sea?” the students began, and with an automated instinct the Captain shot back with clever one-liners and then remained quiet, refueling before the next blow. An awkward air settled over the room as we slowly collected an assortment of facts about his life piecing together the story of a man, that of the Captain of the MV Explorer.
Born in 1956, the British Captain has had many an adventure within his 51 years of life. 33 of those years have been spent at sea after he saw a Royal Navy Officer magazine that caught his eye as a child. Little did he know that this magazine would play such a large part in his future life’s profession. Having always had ambitions of piloting an airplane or driving a ship, the closing of flight schools in England along with the romanticism involved in the open sea together made his decision for sailing a clear choice. “Besides,” the Captain added, “I realized that in case of an emergency my chances of survival by swimming were a lot higher than that of my ability to fly.” This sort of humorous logic was weaved into many of his responses confirming his intelligence and mix of dry English wit. Not to be mistaken for conceit, the Captain used this style of jest in order to disguise intimate facts and leave no room for retort.
The Captain has had a very interesting life thus far. Living in various places such as France, Ukraine and now presently residing in the Philippines has offered as sense of worldly knowledge that further supplements his wisdom of the sea. He is currently married to his third wife, a Filipino fashion model who resides in her home country, and she is the last key player in a long line of relationships that have impacted his life. These said relationships offered an abundance of intimate facts, which the Captain graciously answered as intrigued with our interest in his personal life as we were with him. His first wife was British but has since past away leaving his two eldest children who are now ages 13 and 8 to also reside in the Philippines. He has two other children ages 7 and 4 whom are the products of an “overlap in relationships”. Those two live in the Ukraine presumably remaining with their mother who was never married to the Captain as the two adults “never made it that far.” “I try to stay in touch regularly.” says the Captain of his younger children, but the pressed look upon his face left no room for further questions as it was clear that he had little to do with their lives as of now. “There are many hardships within relationships,” the Captain truthfully advised, then with a smile he finished with “but the Internet makes it easier” to add a sense of lightness back into the mood.
Maintaining his precise posture, the Captain folded his hands across the table in front of him. “I think I am one of the nicest people that I know.” said the Captain creating somewhat of a paradox between his outside personality and his actions within his personal relationships. “I enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of this ship as the passengers do not complain much,” the Captain added, “and I enjoy the enthusiasm in everything that you students do…It is quite rewarding.” People are a topic in which Captain Jeremy’s life revolves around. “I would be happy sitting on a pavement café watching life pass,” the Captain states with a profound glance. He enjoys small ships as “the passengers are not just numbers” and the involvement with the passengers as well as the crew is more open. His life is all about observing and striving to learn something more. At his various ports of call, the Captain is much more likely to discover the culture of the people and of the place than to lie on the beach with the other tourists. He enjoys music of all sorts, water sports and he defiantly states he is scared of nothing.
Like many others, Captain Jeremy is a distinguished man who appears to have everything together. Today we learned that like many, he has his own secrets and interesting past. Bringing humor and seriousness into his life, the Captain remained poised during the prodding of his personal life. Throughout the session he became less of an icon and more of a mere mortal while preserving a deserved level of respect that has been earned from years of hard work.

i heart south africa

I will be living in Capetown someday…or at least I will be returning. From the morning we pulled into port I could tell that this week was going to be amazing. The sight of Table Mountain is so spectacular, especially when you see the sunrise through it at 6 in the morning. When we got off of the ship docked at the V&A Waterfront I was immediately stunned by the beauty of the area. The waterfront is very hip as it has been built up in the recent years and it is the number one spot to visit in Capetown. There are the malls, restaurants, jazz cafes and street entertainment. My dearest friend, Kate Laudermilk, once said that I am looking for tall, lengthy men, with long hair and prominent noses…if you add amazing fashion sense and a British accent then you get the boys of South Africa. Let me say it again, I will be living in Capetown someday.
On my first day in Capetown I went on a visit to the District Six Museum and to the Langa Township. Although the tour was ridiculous since we were rarely allowed off of the bus, it was still such an eye opening experience to see where many of the people in South Africa still live. It is such a contrast to the cleanliness of Cape Town city center as the streets were lined with shacks built from scraps. At the Langa Community Center we were able to see how the township attempts to support it self and create jobs. They make pottery and do metalwork as well as have a community theatre project. This juxtapostion between the impeccable beauty of the waterfront and the inland lifestyle was intense. It is hard to think that the Apartheid took place so recently in the past and that they have come so far already but still have such a ways to go.
On the second day, Molly, Mary, Sherri, Corrine and I hopped on a train to Simon’s Town. We were attempting to see the penguins on Boulders Beach. Needless to say, it never happened. We rode the train from Cape Town for an hour until we reached the end of the line. We passed some beautiful houses atop the hillsides as well as beaches for surfing and hangouts for the locals. The billboards we passed boasted advertisements for AIDS awareness and condom use and we even saw signs for abortion clinics. Once we ventured off the train into Simon’s Town, we were unluckily caught in a downpour. Of course we were each decked out in shorts and tank tops assuming that there would be sun but that absolutely wasn’t the case. To make matters worse, the Rikkis, a form of taxi, never came and we were forced to walk. We only made it to the nearest convenience market where we ate the local Gatsby sandwich, then we had no choice but to walk back to the train. Apparently there are no cabs in Simon’s Town and the Rikkis only come at random. Luck was not on our side as our only option was to walk to the beach that was 20km away or go back to Cape Town. We went back to Cape Town, but even that was not as easy as it sounds. As soon as we boarded the train we hit our first stop and then we never started moving again. Apparently someone had stolen the cable off of the track. A worker for the railway said that this is a common practice as everyone needs to make a little money. The cables were stolen a few times a week and then sold on the black market. This was fine and dandy, as the man said it should be fixed within an hour, but 3 and a half hours later we were still sitting and waiting. We asked if there was a way to call a taxi but the man said that there the taxis would rip you off and rob you so we continued to wait. Finally after the hours of delirium, stupid joke and interesting riddles, we were herded onto a bus. The bus took us to the nearest train stop where the line was working. We finally made it back 5 hours later than planned, but at least we didn’t miss our dinner reservation. The food here is absolutely amazing. I didn’t have one bad meal. That night the girls and I went to Mama Africa, a trendy restaurant serving African food, and we tried the ostrich, crocodile and venison game meat. It was very good but difficult to describe.
My safari was unbelievable. Myself and a group of 12 others traveled to Johannesburg and made our way to Kruger National Park. After a 2 hour flight and a 6 hour drive we found ourselves in the middle of the African Bush staying at the most fabulous secluded lodge named Castleton. The lodge was so serene and beautiful it is hard to realize that I was in the same world. Every two of us shared a private bungalow and we had the most fantastic common area with outdoor dining and lounging areas that looked out to our open backyard of greenery and a herd of grazing impala. I cannot even begin to describe my four days there. We had morning and evening game drives that were conducted on open Land Rovers with our own private German guide who was reminiscent to Brendan Frasier from “The Mummy” but much more handsome, and then we had our incredibly knowledgable local animal tracker. The drives were a fusion between Indiana Jones and Jurassic Park. I could hear a John Williams soundtrack playing in my head as we pulled out at dawn and ventured into the wild. Seeing rhino, elephant and buffalo made me picture a dinosaur hiding around the corner. I have never been so close to animals before and these ones seemed so fantastical that it was hardly believable. We saw everything including lions on the prowl and feasting on impala, leopards stalking through the drainage, giraffes 10 feet away and hippos playing in the water.
Every morning we were woken at 5 AM and after enjoying tea and biscuits we bundled ourselves up in the vehicles and departed for a four hour drive. Each day featured a different path, a different feel. The reserve owned by our lodge was 40,000 acres and so there was plenty of land to roam. The best part of the safari experience was that it was a real hunt. It wasn’t set up knowing where each animal commonly resided, rather we had to track the footprints and follow instinct to come upon a surprise. Themba, our tracker, was amazing. He could sense which direction an animal traveled, he knew how long ago it passed a particular area and he could spot a chameleon in the dark from a mile away. This journey we had to take to find each animal made it more worthwhile as it added our own story to the experience.
Themba lived in the local village of Justicia, where many of the trackers have their homes. We were fortunate enough to get a tour of the area and it was a surprising experience. One of the boys in my group said something about feeling guilty for looking at their misery as entertainment, but by the end of the day he ate those words. The people of the village were so happy. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. I don’t know if the phrase “ignorance is bliss” truly applies to Justicia, but I think it is quite possible. The people of the village were so friendly and pleasant and the waved to the visitors as they approached. The children were so pleased for a high five or a hand shake and although they lived in poverty they appeared unphased. This village differed from the township for they were not near a city for miles. All they have is the African bush and their small rural areas for play. They did not know of skyscrapers and fast paced technology, rather they enjoyed the simple things of life. I believe that this community did not measure happiness upon wealth as they appeared to be most content with their life and in no hurry for a new one.
Ahh I have so much more to write...

I jumped out of a plane.

Everyone has an innate fear of dying. Something that you are just born with knowing that you probably shouldn’t take any moments for granted never knowing when it will be your last. For someone like me, who I believe has an even stronger fear of death, skydiving probably isn’t expected or if I was leading my “normal” life would I ever had considered doing it…but I did. In South Africa! On my last day in Capetown, fresh from my amazing time at my safari, I flew over South Africa with quite possibly the most amazing view in the world.
After being picked up from the waterfront, Molly, Katie, Mary and I were picked up along with other SAS kids and we were shipped off to the location for Skydive Capetown. Once we got there we entered somewhat of a bunker filled with hippie men with dreads and long hair. We watched as they were folding parachutes up into the backpacks looking so calm and relaxed. There were other students there who had just completed their jumps and they had the biggest smiles on their faces. It appeared as though they had just won a million dollars. They all said that they were jealous of us because they wanted to go again and they were excited that we were going to do it as well. I myself was terrified, as I was counting down the minutes of my life, but soon enough I was being strapped into a harness while the owner buckled me up and continually was asking me questions to distract the thoughts of plummeting to my doom.
Molly, Katie and I all went up in the plane together with our tandem professionals who will jump as many as 20 times a day. Crazy. The guys acted like this was nothing and continually laughed at us as we were probably white with fright and as we boarded the tiny tiny plane we were as quite as mice.
I cannot even remember the plane taking off. All I can think of is the sight of us scrunched up like sardines in the back of the plane, us six people in the fetal position and the scenery becoming more and more clear as we ascended to 9,000 feet in the air. I could see Robben Island and Table Mountain so clearly and the ocean looked so vast next to the plains of Capetown. The guys thought we were hilarious for not talking and so they decided to make fun of us making us more uncomfortable and awkward. I would like to think it was more of a calm before the storm. At that point I was no longer scared or nervous because I was all set to go and I really didn’t have a choice.
Anyways…when we finally reached the altitude, the guys had us sit on their laps and the attached us to them. Within 30 seconds the had opened up the door that was by my legs and without leaving any room to ask questions Molly was set to go out. I was the last to go and I cannot explain the sight of someone falling out of an airplane. It was ridiculous. Molly screamed bloody murder, I mean the most blood curdling scream I had ever heard in my life. I could hear the shriek fade as she fell and then Katie was set to go. It seemed like it went by so fast and then my legs were flapping out the door as I went to fold my arms and fall.
The free falling part probably only lasted like 30 seconds but it seemed like so much more. It was crazy. I was spinning around and the wind was whipping against my face. I am sure I was screaming bloody murder myself but I can’t really remember. I can however remember the feeling of the change of falling to flying. Suddenly Jerry opened the chute and time seemed to stop. The view was amazing and it was so much fun to steer the chute and make turns. I could see Katie’s and Molly’s parachutes beneath me and it was so cool. My landing was not the best ever as I ended up lying on top of Jerry trapped until I was unhooked…but Mary faired worse as she face planted into the ground. Anyways, it was crazy. I will do it again someday and now I can say I flew in Africa. Pretty awesome.

Shiplife: Writing Assignment

The sheer fact that I am writing my journal while sitting poolside and listening to the colorful beats of Bob Marley is grounds enough to state that this is not the average college campus. Life aboard the MV Explorer is a magical world, a cultural cornucopia of students and crewmembers that alone are as diverse as the countries we make our way towards. Around every corner lies someone new to meet and although the process of repetitive questions is doomed to occur, we also see that when all is said and done, no state is free from representation and that the interrogation may find a common bond.
Ship life offers something rarely found in our modern-day society; the expulsion of social barriers. The Explorer is an escape from reality sharing the same principles of the Roman Baths in the time of the Empire. We have found a social haven where upon entering we are stripped of class and have the opportunity to mingle outside of our normal situation. Only here may a student share free-weights with his professor or you can find yourself seated next to the Archbishop for an evening meal like it is a natural occurrence.
This new way of life comes with a fresh set of social standards, where patches of Dramamine that secretly hide behind one’s ear become the newest fashion craze to be desired by old and young alike. Napping is no longer thought to be for the lazy and lax rather it weeds its way into the daily routine for most passengers. At any hour of the day a student may be found lying peacefully, with their bodies wrapped tight in a set of sheets, being lulled to sleep by the constant swaying of the ship. These beds, by the way, appear to be magic themselves, for as soon as you exit the room, even just for a few minutes, the beds seem to make themselves and call out for a warm body. Of course we know that the friendly cabin stewards are the ones to receive the thanks, but like the House-Elves from Harry Potter, they are so good at their jobs they find ways to appear invisible.

Urine, markets and the Ugly American

So last night’s Carnival was a much different experience than the first night’s. Evidently, the first night had most of the action in the lower Barra area and then last night it was in Pelourinno ( I have no idea how to spell that…). Anyways there was a sea of people in the streets and I am talking about thousands. We went out as a group of thirteen boys and girls and somehow we miraculously were able to return home that way. It was a crazy night. There were blocos, which are the big sound trucks that have the bands standing on top of them, upon blocos and the dancing parade never ceased. It was such an interesting spectacle. We made friends with a kid named Danilio who was from Salvador and although he only spoke Portuguese somehow everyone was able to converse with him and helped us out with everything. I think he just enjoyed our company. He said he was 19 but he appeared to be more like 16. It is hard to say if he is a street kid or if he has a family and a home. It is sad to think about when as we leave for the night we head back to a giant cruise ship while he may be living in a small favela on the side of the mountains. At least he showed us a good time and really enjoyed being with us. It is funny to think that there are universal signs that can be made by hand and without words you can still communicate. Brazil is the first place that I have traveled where I don’t understand what people say to me. At least when I was in Italy I could make out words to pick up on what they are saying, but here Portuguese is more like Japanese.
The air last night like nothing I have ever breathed in my life. I have never been somewhere where I yearn to enter a store or go back on board the ship for some fresh air. Normally you wish to go outside for that but here in Brazil it is so humid that the urine that consumes each corner cooks in the heat and creates a disgusting odor that when combined with the sweat and the BO is like no other smell in the world. After a while it becomes difficult to breathe. My lungs felt as though they were filled with dirt and I wanted to vomit each time I took a breath.
One thing that I really had trouble with last night was the idea of the Ugly American. Some of the people we went out with and others from the program appeared to be those annoying tourists that see the world only through rose colored glasses. After drinking their beers they become oblivious. They see this experience only as an ongoing party and miss out on seeing and trying to understand the people that they come in contact with. Vanity is such a strong issue as these girls melt at the slightest bit of attention. Basically they show their younger age through their mannerisms and lack of common sense. I am not just saying this to be critical, but we are in a country that is not the safest place in the world and we are in Salvador in its most dangerous time of the year. Eh. Evidently last night a couple of students got mugged and two boys actually witnessed a man being knifed…they say they saw the blade cut open a man’s chest. Whether or not it is true they definitely looked terrified and were searching for a way home so I am going to believe that they were not lying. It just goes to say that anything can happen and it is best to remain as inconspicuous as possible instead of calling attention to drunk white kid behavior.
On another note, today Molly and I went to the Mercado Modelo, which is an art market. There are booths selling jewelry, fake futbol jerseys, t-shirts, art and other various souveniers. While searching for a Kaka jersey for Molly I had an interesting conversation with the sales woman. I could make out certain words in Portugese that were similar to Spanish and since she saw that I could translate to Molly she continued on thinking that I could understand her. One of the men that worked in the stand had the woman ask me if I was either a singer named Ivana something or other or if I was married to a singer name Ivan something or other. I couldn’t tell. But she kept making a box around her face and saying singer then pointing at me. Maybe I was mistaken for a pop superstar. Ha.
It has been a beautiful day today. So hot though. For the past two days it had been overcast with the occasional downpour, but today was the way I pictured it to be in Brazil. By the way I know I mentioned it before but think about it again…Brazil has the second largest population of Africans in the world after Nigeria. Brazil has more Africans than Africa itself. Crazy.

Brasil!

Oi! Boum Gia! Yesterday morning we arrived in Brazil. As soon as the ship docked and the immigration officers finished stamping passports we were finally free to explore. Descending the stairs or the ship on to the dock we were greeted by a quartet of drummers playing an African beat and by women who tied bracelets around our wrists. The bracelets are ribbons that say “ Branca do Senhor do Bonfim de Bahia”. I cannot translate that but they represent a tradition of the church where as they are tied on these bracelets are tied with three knots. You are told to make a wish and you must wear it until it falls off. If you take it off you are brought bad luck. So now I most likely will have it on until San Diego.
The women that gave us the bracelets were adorned in great traditional costumes. With petticoats worn under their layered dresses, they appeared to be either extremely overweight or hiding a small child under their dresses. Let’s just say that I have never appeared so thin as when I stood next to the 4 of them. On their heads they each wore a colored turban and they had multiple necklaces and bracelets dangling around their necks and arms.
My first outing of the day was not until a couple hours later when I departed on a walking tour of Salvador. The historical part of the tour itself was miserable as the woman was old and it was her first tour. You could barely hear her and she kept forgetting information. But really it didn’t matter because the only reason that I signed up for the tour was to be able to take out make nice camera for lots of pictures without worrying about getting it stolen. I did get many wonderful pictures and as it is the week of Carnival, many people were I dressed in interesting costumes…I have never seen so many men dressed as women in my life.
The city architecture of Salvador is amazing, but as the years have past the facades of each home are now just remnants of the beauty they once held. The buildings appear to be skeletons of a once complete body. Because of the humidity in Brazil, the colorful pinks, blues, yellows and whites of the paints are stripped of their vibrance and because of the cost of upkeep they are left peeling and thirsty for new protection.
Salvador is the second largest concentration of Africans in the world after Nigeria so no matter how you are dressed they know you are a tourist from your skin color alone. In Brazil there is a huge difference in wealth as the poor people are very poor and the small percent of the wealthy are very rich. Carnival is one time in the year where there is supposed to be a redistribution of wealth from the rich to the poor as they all celebrate the week before Lent and all boundries are broken. In Salvador Carnival is celebrated in a traditional way with band after band parading down the streets followed by dancers in traditional costumes and often accompanied by men and boys practicing Capoiera, a type of martial arts that was created as a secret activity for military defense. Everything in Salvador has an African undertone, so if you are thinking of the giant floats and flashy costumes of the Rio de Janiero Carnival you would be mistaken. As much as I would love to go to Rio, at this point I am a little terrified of the robbing that occurs and the fact that it is the most dangerous city in Brazil at the busiest time so needless to say, I am content to stay in Salvador. Carnival is the biggest party in the world according to the Guinness book of World Records and so it is pretty cool to be a part of it no matter what city I am in. As I mentioned before, there are men on the street that travel in packs wearing the same outfit but dressed as women. They wear wigs, they wear miniskirts, they wear makeup and I don’t think they were gay. It is the most bizarre thing that I have seen. Especially because they are of all ages from 8 to 60. Last night as I was out celebrating Carnival on the streets on of these “men” came up to me and my friends and I could not tell if he was more attracted to me or one of the boys. I think they all must be confused or at least crazy. By the way, his name was Waldo and he wore fishnets and a leather corsette…My kind of man.

The people of Brazil are as diverse as they come. 2/3 of the Brazilian population are living in poverty and Brazil is home to many street children who are without home or family and are known for surviving off of what they steal from the filet mignon, also know as the tourists. It was so interesting to start of my trip in Brazil by walking around the city, but it was more difficult than I thought it would be. I was expecting to see poverty in South Africa and India, but Brazil appears to be quite eye-opening as well. The city reeks of urine as the street-dwellers use every corner and tree to relieve themselves. That with the mix of humidity and sweat creates an odor that consumes the city. There are men and women that lay on the streets looking malnourished and in need of help. Even the vendors are not the same as those in Mexico as these people are missing many teeth, have sink ailments and appear to be walking skeletons. We were warned not to carry cameras with us as most people see a camera as 5 years worth of work. It makes you incredibly guilty to see their lifestyles knowing that there is little you can do to help in the long term.
On the other side of the people, Brazilians come from all around to witness Carnival and so this is their week of fun. I have never seen so many adorable children running around in little skirts and fancy bra-type tops and boys in Batman costumes (don’t ask me why). They are all so colorful and the sparkle as they walk down the streets trying to keep up with their parents.
I have so much more to say about it but I will write more later!

Shrimps and Leeches...the surprises of Bio Bay

Back in the open waters again…Last night we left Puerto Rico and I must say that I had a very good time there. On my second night I went to Bioluminescent Bay which is this bay where a natural phenomenon occurs. In reaction to agitation these plankton or living organism within the water react and emit light. There are only 4 bioluminescent areas in the world and 3 of them are within Puerto Rico. The 4th is in Japan but it was a man-made area where the re-planted the mongol trees that help to cause the phenomenon. So, after an hour car ride out to the bay I boarded my kayak with another Marissa and we followed our guide (who called himself Peter Plankton) into this dark tunnel created by trees. It was already nighttime and dark outside and then adding the cover of the trees left little to see. I could barely make out the fluorescent ring of the kayak in front of me and it took me and Marissa a little while to become good at steering the kayak. With this being so, we definitely ran into many trees that we didn’t see coming and we had a couple of foreign stowaways; one being either a huge black beetle on my arm or possibly a leech and the other being either a shrimp or a sardine that was attempting to get into Marissa’s bathing suit bottoms. Ha. Gross. Anyways, after about a mile’s worth of rowing we could tell that we were close to the bay because with every stroke of the paddle the water would start to light up. Once out in the bay we were in this vast area of water surrounded by only trees. Peter Plankton tied all of our kayaks together, told us a little biology/ecology lesson then let us dive into the water. It was so cool. Even though it was almost pitch black outside you could see your own legs under water because with the motion it would light up the organisms and make the legs appear to glow. Also if sitting in the kayak you could scoop up the water with your hands and the bioluminescent plankton would trickle off your hands as though it was fairy dust. Basically the water looked like it contained fireflies as inhabitants and it was quite amazing.
Yesterday I went to the beach and became a lobster. Unintentionally of course, but the water was so warm and beautiful and it was a perfect day to relax. Before venturing off to lunch we asked one of the local surfers where we could find some good Puerto Rican food and he told of the name of a place in Old San Juan. Of course he didn’t know what street it was on and the only information that he could tell us about it was that it was across from a Footlocker. Well we were brave and ventured off on a 45-minute walk from the beach to Old San Juan and miraculously found the restaurant, Manolina, down one of the many tight streets of town. It was like a local diner filled with native Puerto Ricans so we knew it was the real thing. I had a chicken empanada with rice and beans, which was delicious, and I found it interesting that they had bottled ketchup/mayo that they used as a sauce. But the food was great and I think that the sheer fact that we found the place was grounds for satisfaction.
I finished the day off with some more beach time then went back to the ship.
It is funny because it took me about 3 days to feel as though I was back on land and then as soon as I was comfortable again it was time to get back on the ship. But now I think I am used to the rocking as I actually couldn’t wait for the ship to start moving last night to rock me to sleep and today I felt just fine. I started my other two classes today which I think I am going to really enjoy. First was documentary filmmaking in which I will make a movie about a topic that I choose. At this point I am thinking of either making a cultural comparison between the countries or focusing on the children of each port and their differences in health and poverty levels. Anyways I think that the class will be a challenge but I will come out with a great product.
My other class was African drumming. I am so excited about this one because it doesn’t really seem like class, it is more like an after-school activity. We didn’t get to play the instruments yet, but we did walk around in a circle clapping our hands and stomping our feet to syncopated and clave rhythms. At the end of the voyage we will play along with the xylophone class and give a concert for the ship. It should be fun.
Last but not least, we had the activities fair tonight. I am already signed up to be a pen pal for a school within Washington state (which I will find out which class on Monday), but I wanted to do other things too. First I signed up to be a Student of Service which is a group that will help plan activities and gather donations for the various orphanages and schools. I also signed up to be in a shipboard “family” where many students get paired up with the “life long learners” on our voyage and meet up for dinner once in a while. The life long learners range from like 28 to 91. Anyways, it should be fun to get to know them better.
That is it for now! I am going to aloe myself to sleep.

Bienvenudos a Puerto Rico! Oh Ricky Martin!

Today is my second day in the port of San Juan, Puerto Rico. It has been a fabulous start. Yesterday I woke up at 6:30 so that I could be awake to see the ship pull into port. It was so beautiful. From my window I could see the in port pilot climb aboard from his little tug boat and guide us in. I took pictures and ate out on the deck where I could see it all.
We were greeted by the Governor of Puerto Rico in the morning as all of the students congregated in the Union to see him speak. Not only did the Governor appear, but also the Secretary of State, numerous press crews and it housed the first public appearance of Archbishop Desmond Tutu. It was interesting because not only were the press crews snapping photos but also all the students so there were about 800 cameras flashing all at once. The Governor is the highest political office in Puerto Rico since it is a US territory, so in a sense it was like their President came to visit...which was very neat. All of Puerto Rico is very nice. It is not that different from the US as there are COSTCOs and Walmarts but also they have a very strong sense of heritage and culture that we in the US lack. As the Governor said, yes, they are part of the United States but instead of calling themselves Americans, they are Puerto Ricans...even if they live within the mainland US.
Walking around old San Juan is very beautiful as each house is painted in a varying bright color. The pinks, yellow and blue doors seem welcoming and represent their fun party lifestyle. I walked the city with Molly, Mary and Haley and we made our way up to San Cristobal, El Muro and past the "dangerous" living lifestyle of the La Perla town. It was about a 2 hour walk from the ship and in that time we saw the Cathedral that J.Lo was married in but interestingly enough it appears as though the people of Puerto Rico don't like her at all. Instead they love their hometown hero, Ricky Martin. I guess he is home this weekend and is giving a concert tomorrow, but it is sold out. There are posters of his face splashed everywhere along the streets of San Juan and apparently his penthouse is a building right in view from our ship.
I was expecting PR to be more like the Mexico that I had visited in the past but it really is not. It is much cleaner and probably wealthier as well. There are no vendors lining the streets and following the tourists around so it has been nice, but definately not a big change compared to most US cities. I know that our next stops will definately be more diverse, but this was a good way to ease ourselves into the changing cultures.
Last night I was able to go to Carribean University in Puerto Rico where as the bus pulled up we were greeted by a steel drum band accompanied by dancers on stilts and people in traditional masks and costumes. After a brief introduction to the University we were ushered outside where they had this huge party set up for us. We entered the outside area by walking under the legs of the stilt people and in the middle of the outside area they had a platform stage with men and women students dancing in traditional flowing skirts and folling the beat of African drumming. They performed many dances for us that mapped out their history and we got a chance to taste some of the traditional food of deep fried plantains and ground up beef treats. They were interesting...not my favorite. I did however love the dancing, especially when the little children came out and danced as well. It was just so cool that as a culture they all know of these dances and songs and they are passed down through the years to keep them alive. And not only is it the tradtional dances, but also salsa, merengue and reggaton. I guess in Puerto Rico they must have been dancing in their wombs as they all have this natural sense of rythm and can pick up a beat and dance without even thinking. I guess that I should take up practicing my dance moves so I can impress them all. Haha, yeah right.

The Ship's a Rockin!

So I am at my third day at sea and I at this point I am not quite sure what I got myself into. Eh. I was not at all expecting to be seasick but unfortunately I guess I had no choice. The MV Explorer is quite the ship. I have a great room that has a giant window that overlooks the waves and my roommate, Katie, seems to be really nice. The swaying from right to left, left to right is really getting to me though. Everyone walks down the hallways as if intoxicated but surprise! they are just the sea legs. These first couple of days have been filled with orientation meetings and such to prepare us for the voyage ahead and our first stop in Puerto Rico. All of these meetings have been held in the Union, which is the giant room in the front of the ship that will also become home to the talent shows and movie nights. The thing is that in this room we are continually rocking which puts me to sleep and I have an incredibly hard time following all of the information because I feel as though I am a baby in a cradle. Lets just say that so far my nights have been great as I pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow.
I started my first classes today. I have an 8 AM that is called “Writing About Travel”. Once again I am having a little bit of trouble staying awake, but hopefully I will adjust soon and come out with a great journal from the class. After that I had Global Studies that is required by everyone and tells of the history of the different ports and the economic and political and religious layouts. I am hoping that it will pick up and become more interesting as we go along. Last, my third class of the day was HIV/AIDS in the World. I think that this class will definitely be an interesting topic.
For the rest of the day I have been catching some sun as it is so nice outside. I think I made a mistake in packing though because the ship is freezing cold and I sit with chattering teeth yet I only have a couple of sweatshirts to keep me warm. Oh well, all I need to do is step outside for 5 minutes to reheat myself and I am set to go for at least another hour. This is no normal school and the sight of girls with bathing suits under tank tops is going to be the trend of the next 3 months.
Tomorrow is the first stop of San Juan, Puerto Rico. I still have no plans and I think I should probably figure that out…

So Long Land

So I am here at the Atlantis Resort in the Bahamas and in just a couple of hours I will be lugging my massive bags to the ship. Just thought I would say: Ah! it is finally here!!!

Plans becoming Realities

So this past weekend I finally was able to get together with 8 other students from the Seattle area that are going to be sailing with me and all I can say is that it was fantastic. I mean it was so funny because we all met at the Bahama Breeze restaurant (specifically chosen for the name and very funny since it was snowing) and it was like having a multiple blind date yet all having stuff to say and ongoing conversations. Of course we "knew" eachother from Facebook, but this first meeting kind of made it all become reality. Like it just hit me; I am actually sailing around the world and these are some of the people that will be doing it with me. We are all so excited about getting started and we couldn't help but ask eachother about our plans for the countries or have someone else to discuss the random questions that we had. Anyways, I will get to see many of them again this weekend at the alumni potluck and I am sure we will each have more questions to be answered for the alumni. Two weeks left!!!

Donations for the Children of the World

Hey Guys! So I am following suit from a fellow SASer who is accepting donations from anyone for the children of the world that we are planning on meeting. Anything would be fantastic but here are some suggestions:

*Clothes: underwear, t-shirts and such
*Crayons and coloring books
*Stickers
*Small picture books

Or anything else small and convenient for me to pack and travel with. The kids I will be meeting are from South Africa, India, Vietnam, China and they will be from small villages or orphanages. It is safe to say that almost all of these kids do not get gifts frequently and I am going to do my best to try and help them even if just for a day. Please, please contact me if you are interested in sending stuff for me to take to these kids! Nothing has to be new as everything will be new to these kids.

Thanks!

Snail Mail! How to Keep in Touch SAS Style

As I embark on this journey of a lifetime I am leaving behind many of the little things that I take for granted every day including daily phone calls and excessive email. Please, please, please write me if you have a chance. I cannot explain to you how great it is to hear about the lives of my loved ones, even if it is just about what you did that day. If you do choose to write you can be sure that I will respond. Please send AIRMAIL only. Please do not send packages to the ship - Excessive duty is charged in some countries. In many instances, packages are not delivered to the ship. Packages may be held in customs, or at a local post office, and the recipient aboard ship is never notified. If you send packages, you do so at your own risk.

Puerto Rico: AIRMAIL no later than JAN 24th

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives February 7, 2007
Cruise Plus Service & Sales
1760 Fernandex Juncos Avenue
San Juan, PUERTO RICO, 00909

Brazil: AIRMAIL no later than FEB 3rd

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives February 17, 2007
Oceanus Agencia Maritima
Av. Estados Unidos, 397, Room 601-604
40018-900 Salvador, BAHIA-BRAZIL

South Africa: AIRMAIL no later than FEB 16th

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives March 2, 2007
John T. Rennie & Sons
PO Box 702, 1 Thibault House
8000 Cape Town, SOUTH AFRICA

Mauritius: AIRMAIL no later than MAR 1st

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives March 15, 2007
Ireland Blyth Limited
1 Queen Street, PO Box 53
Port Louis, MAURITIUS

India: AIRMAIL no later than MAR 11th

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives March 25, 2007
J.M. Baxi & CO
52 Rajaji Salai
Chennai-600 001, INDIA

Malaysia: AIRMAIL no later than MAR 19th

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives April 2, 2007
Inchcape Shipping Services SDN
4th Floor Unit 4B
Wisma Saw Chong Thuah
39-c, Pengkalan Weld
10300 Penang, MALAYSIA

Vietnam: AIRMAIL no later than MAR 26th

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives April 9, 2007
General Forwarding & Agency
5th Floor Osic Building
8 Nguyen Hue Avenue
D. 1, Ho Chi Minh City, VIETNAM

Hong Kong: AIRMAIL no later than APR 3rd

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives April 17, 2007
Inchcape Shipping Services (HK) Ltd.
Units 1802-1805, 18th Floor
No 3 Lockhart Road
Wanchai, HONG KONG- CHINA

China: AIRMAIL no later than APR 7th

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives April 21, 2007
Penavico Qingdao
21 Wuxia Road
Quingdao, 266002, P.R. CHINA

Japan: AIRMAIL no later than APR 11th

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives April 25, 2007
Inchcape Shipping Services
Kenryu Bldg II, Room 303
6, Kaigan-dori, Chu-ku
Kobe-shi, Hyogo-Ken 650-0024, JAPAN

Hawaii: AIRMAIL no later than APR 23rd

Marissa Flores
C/O: MV Explorer
Arrives May 7, 2007
Inchcape Shipping Services
Gentry Pacific Center
260 North Numitz Hwy, Suite 103
HONOLULU, Hawaii 96817, USA

Thanks so much. Hope to hear from you all soon!