Getting Eaten Alive

So I'm currently in the terminal of the port of Manaus in Brazil with, what seems like, all the other SASers (and a stray dog) because of the free Wi-Fi.  I will never doubt that a few hundred college students will be able to find the nearest source of internet anywhere around the world.  So here I am.

Though I have a few photos from Brazil already, here are a few photos of the development of my Toms from Dominica.  They smell horrible and look pretty worn out, and that's exactly how I want them to be.  So as I sit here and get eaten alive by possibly malaria ridden mosquitos, I shall upload these photos for you all to see the transformation thus far.  And I will hopefully be able to put up some Manaus photos before I leave!

More soon!

On Being a Righteous Hypocrite

As you saw from my previous list of stereotypes on the MV Explorer, there are some interesting (or not so interesting people) on board. I'm stumbling upon new types of people all the time, and one of those groups that I have recently discovered is the people who are excessively righteous. Something that comes with this is the plight of hypocrisy.

Now this sounds a little funky, but this group comprises of people who think that they are too worldly and understand so much about the diversity of the world because they once went somewhere a little off the beaten path. Furthermore, they make you feel like you are the worst person for not being as well-versed, considerate, and global as they perceive themselves to be. What takes the cake, though, is the fact that they are neither of these things, and they have a terribly skewed view of themselves as respectful and intelligent in this interconnected world. In fact, they are extremely naive and stubborn. This is in stark contrast to the people who have no interest at all in having alternative cultural experiences and, upon arriving to port, search for the nearest bar, club, beach, or McDonalds and wonder why nobody speaks English or accepts their American currency. I can't really decide which of these two I despise more, for each are quite horrible people. However, I think that the unbearably righteous have the capacity of being much worse because their feigned acceptance and knowledge can cause even worse problems.

This group of people parade their experiences on their sleeves and don't hesitate to tell you how ignorant they think you are. They brag and make you feel guilty about some kind of service trip in Uganda or Zimbabwe or another place that gives the illusion that you aren't as kind and giving as they are. They talk about how they do so much community service with poor children or volunteer at the local shelter. They describe how they know so much of a language that they spent three days studying or talk about how they know everything about a certain cuisine because they went to a restaurant specializing in that food for their aunt's birthday party when they were a pre-teen. They are the same people who will come back and talk superficially about how their lives were significantly changed.

I've done some soul searching because I found a few of these traits in myself. However, I'd like to think that I don't fall into this group because of one trait: childlike curiosity. This is what differentiates the righteous hypocrite from a true explorer. The righteous hypocrite feels that he/she is a mature, experienced traveller knows so much and approaches new things with a critical lens. A true explorer comes with an authentic, almost juvenile, interest to learn, experience, and grow with no expectations. I hope to come back changed because of genuine transformative experiences from which I have learned valuable lessons and not because I can say that I went somewhere and, by virtue of that fact, am better than you because you did not.

Sorry for that rant, but these people have been pissing me off as much as the complete opposite group of yacht boys and woo girls have been doing so. What I suggest is that the best place to be is somewhere in between. And I can say that I have found myself a culprit of being more along the lines of a righteous hypocrite. So, with that in mind, I will try to be more aware of not sounding and/or acting like a prick as I arrive to my next port in a few hours: Manaus, Brazil. So, greetings from the Amazon! I hope to share with you some of my experiences (and some pictures) as soon as possible!

Highlights from Dominica

So I'm currently sitting outside on the MV Explorer above the Faculty Lounge which apparently gets the best internet.  So here I am posting some more photos from Dominica.  The ship has just entered the Amazon River which looks so different from all the waters we've already sailed; basically, it's really funky to see such brown water after seeing the bluest seas I've ever witnessed.

Anyway, here are some highlights from my time in Dominica.  I tried posting them on Facebook while on port because I was able to hijack some wifi from the dock while on the ship right before we were set to leave, but lo-and-behold, we departed right before they finished uploading.  So here's just a taste of the sights of Dominica.

One of the most simple, but gorgeous, cemeteries I've ever been to.

One of my favorite shoe pictures so far.

Generic photo of me near the Titou Gorge.

Me and CoCoDro in the hot springs at Trafalgar Falls.

As much as I loved Dominica, it was only our first port, and I can't even imagine how the rest will be.  We'll see what happens!

Stereotypes on the MV Explorer

(Co-Written by Colin Hickey Francis Drohan the First)

By no means is this an exhaustive list, but this is a pretty darn good starting point.


1. Boys who wears pastel shorts, button up shirts, and boat shoes:
-This person hasn't exactly figured out that we're not aboard their personal yacht. We are at school, believe it or not. Yes, it may be school on a cruise ship, but it is school nonetheless.

2. People who go to Bar Night:
-These people are more concerned about getting their drink vouchers than doing their homework. They oftentimes are spotted on the seventh deck spending their parents' money on small amounts of alcohol that cost them $3.50 each.

3. Girls whose wardrobes are comprised solely of greek-wear:
-Somehow, these girls have been able to put letters on every single item they own. They are closely associated with the frat boys who only wear pinneys.

4. Girls who are on this trip to tan:
-Oftentimes, these are girls who also are part of the sub-group of girls whose wardrobes are comprised solely of greek-wear. They take part in this ritual in hopes of somehow getting their letters tanned on them as a tramp stamp.

5. People who pump iron during snack time:
-Also known as people who walk around without shirts on. Also, it's snack time…

6. People who still think we went to the Dominican Republic:
-They still pronounce Dominica incorrectly and wonder why nobody was speaking Spanish.

7. People who keep flushing things down the toilet:
-Really, though. When the Executive Dean has to explain on the loudspeaker what a foreign object is, it has gone too far.

8. People who don't understand how malaria meds work and make the line at the doctor's office very unnecessarily long:
-Some people have real medical problems. Your problem is not being able to read instructions on the pill box. Just do what you do best, and swallow it.

9. Girls who couldn't find automatic shut-off hair-straighteners/curling irons:
-Sorry, but nobody's gonna care that your hair will be frizzy in Ghana. Theirs will be, too.

10. Facebook celebs who think they're real celebs on the ship:
-C'mon, we weren't clapping for you in the Union because we liked you. We were clapping for you to sit down and shut up.

11. Lifelong Learners:
-Some are pretty awesome, but some are convinced they're in college again. Example: Woman partaking in the shaking contest in the Union during Family Feud.

12. Hayden Ford:
-I'll admit he's quite punny, but his existence on this boat (pftpft it's a ship) makes this entire experience unbearable.

Discovering Dominica

Dominica, the Nature Island Paradise of the Caribbean as many have deemed it, shall not be confused with the Dominican Republic. Honestly, I'm quote sure that some of the not-so-bright SAS-ers on board may have thought we were going to la Republica Dominicana only to be very disappointed upon arrival with their Spanish-for-Tourists guidebooks in their hands. It was an amazing first port. Though originally slated to stop in Cuba, which I'm sure would have also been an amazing cultural experience, Dominica brought so many surprises. The local Dominicans (stress on the second i, not the first) were extremely friendly, some being a little too nice, and they were not afraid to tell you about it. On more than one occasion, we were told that they were indeed the nicest people of the Caribbean and would never rob, steal, or cheat any visitors and would do anything in their power to help them. I would like to extend my utmost praise and gratitude for Justin, Bennett, and Israel, the three taxi drivers who I was pleased to meet during the past two days. Even though they could have been slightly overbearing, and borderline creepy, they were genuinely interested in our lives and in our safety. It was a great ease into this voyage, and I can only imagine that it will get more difficult to communicate and get around in the upcoming destinations in the itinerary.

With its lush rainforests atop mountains kissing the clouds, Dominica is a natural wonderland with one of the most glorious landscapes on which I've ever been able to tread. On day one, I was able to peruse around the capital city of Roseau with its colorful buildings, rampant animals, unpredictable traffic, and deep sidewalk trenches which acted as their sewer system. Just a jump, hop, and skip away were mountains upon mountains in which some of natures wonders can be found, including the Trafalgar (or Twin) Falls and the TiT0ou Gorge, both of which I was able to explore on the second day. There was such diversity that can be found, either within the landscapes or the people, and it was a joy to be in such a breath-taking place.

Wither haggling for the cost of well-endowed Bob Marley magnets in Eastern Caribbean Dollars or getting lost while hiking through the rainforest, the island was full of fun, new experiences. If you told me a week ago that I would be dancing a traditional Indian dance form to the music of Skrillex in a open-roofed bar in Roseau, I would have laughed at you. If you told me that a few hours after, I'd be wading in the water of a gorge where the Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed or sticking my feet in a hot spring at the foot of the Mama and Papa Falls, I'd laugh even harder. Well, to put a long story short, I'm cackling like a maniac. As I eat my Cheezies Puffs, a snack of which the mascot is a cheese platypus that is "50% Bird, 50% Mammal, and 100% Cheesy," I am already reminiscing about the time I had in port and readjusting to the rocking of the ship as it continues to blaze through the sea.

Packed in these two days are so many stories, and I can't even begin to tell all of them. Eating mangoes, bananas, and passionfruit from a gap-toothed vendor, happily greeting every person I passed on the street, and having some of the funniest conversations with taxi drivers who were willing to take you anywhere on the island are only a small tidbit of the things I was able to cram into such a short time. I can't even imagine what the rest of this journey will be like, but I'm ready for all the stories I will tell about them.

And if you're at all wondering about my shoes, you can only imagine how soiled they've become, especially after trekking through the rainforest. I have some amazing photos that will be uploaded as soon as possible.

Oh, and one last thing: Happy Belated Birthday to my father!

Sea-Sickness

So we're finally on our way from the Bahamas to Dominica after huge dilemmas in Nassau. To put a long story short, because of pointless visa problems due to the carelessness of the company that was supposed to get them for us, several students were delayed in their arrival to port, and the officials on the boat decided to wait an extra day for them. We also ended up leaving Nassau twice: we had to leave the port because another ship had to take our spot; and then we came back around later in the day to pick up the remaining students. All in all, a hot mess.

On our first full day of sailing, I experienced the worst sea-sickness. I vomited twice throughout the day, and it was highly unpleasant. I'd rather not go into detail about my misfortune because it conjures up horrible visions of me bent over the toilet and other not-so-pretty things. Anyway, I had no idea what my reaction would be to being on the ship, and now I know that it's a bit harder to develop my "sea legs" than I had originally thought. A day later, with a few Dramamine tablets in my system and a pair motion sickness bands on my wrists, I feel significantly better than I did yesterday, so hopefully it was just a one-time occurrence.

Other than that situation that left me quite bed-ridden, I've been having a pretty decent few days. As you can imagine, there were hours upon hours of orientation-type meetings meant to acclimate us to our new sea lives, and those spanned in excitement from bland to extremely bland. And meeting people has been similarly freshman-orientation-like, and there's a clear division between people who are here for academic pursuits and those who clearly couldn't care less (who still think that Dominica and the Dominican Republic are the same thing). I'm not going out of my way to meet people because a majority of the people I encounter are members of that second cohort, though I apparently have a fan club of sorority girls from ASU who I thoroughly enjoy.

Nonetheless, the MV Explorer is amazing. Even though it's quite quaint, it's adorable. Already, I notice that the food is quite repetitive (a carbohydrate fest of pasta, rice, and potatoes), but I'll get over it. There are decks upon decks to sight-see, even though there's not very many things to see in the middle of the ocean. Apparently, we were passing by Puerto Rico during lunch, but I can't really confirm that as true. And classes have been interesting, with amazing faculty with great backgrounds, though the class work is excruciatingly painful as usual. I chuckle to myself when I describe my major to people, the Globalization of Music & Dance Culture, and I also felt extremely nerdy when I started name dropping my teachers only to realize that two of my professors on board know two of my advisors from home.

Anyway, tomorrow, we're going to reach Roseau, Dominica, a true unique gem in the middle of the Caribbean. I can't wait to share those experiences with you!

Bahama Papa

After a very early flight from JFK and a layover in Miami, I arrived to Nassau in the Bahamas.  To put a long story short, this island has some of the most vibrant colors I've ever seen and the most amazingly friendly people.  It's as if I'm walking in a super-saturated photograph being greeted with  a sea of pearly whites against beautiful brown skin.

I think I'm gonna keep this one short.  So today, all the work-study students and the lifelong learners (primarily elderly couples who are sharing the experience with us) were able to board, and since I'll be working at the Campus Store (which seems so chill), I was able to take a sneak-peak at the MV Explorer and get settled a little early.  Even though it is dwarfed by all the other cruise ships in the port, there is ample room for everything and more.  I can only imagine what it's gonna be like when everyone's on board.

But yeah, it's gonna be a long day tomorrow because, as work-study students, we have to help with the embarkation process for the rest of the cohort.  I have to get up at 6AM, and the most I've slept were the few winks in between the heavy turbulence on my way to Miami.

Anyway, after meeting a few people, I don't feel as completely awkward as I did this morning, but I can't help put feel like this is like freshman orientation all over again.  Whatever, I'll get over it.  There are clearly going to be some wonderful, and not-so-wonderful, people that I'll meet on this voyage, and I'm throughly excited to encounter them all.

So I leave you with a few pictures from the Bahamas.  I unfortunately wasn't able to do very much anything on the island because I had all my luggage that I had to schlep around, and once I checked into the boat and was able to leave again, it was dark.  Actually, I'm currently with a few other SASers at the Towne Hotel a few blocks away from the port using their free Wi-Fi.  This is going to be a very common occurrence during this trip, I promise you.

But yeah.  I embark tomorrow, and I hope to continue blogging via e-mail, and hopefully I'll be able to give you all some more pictures once in port in Dominica.

Until then, this Bahama Papa sends his love from the Caribbean.  And to all of the lovely people in Rochester, I hope you had a wonderful first day of classes of the Spring semester!

Money Matters

I know I’m posting a whole lot, but I’m trying to get a lot of my thoughts out about what’s going on in my head before the trip.  Also, I can’t foretell how much I may be writing while in the throes of the voyage, so I’d at least try to squeeze my creative juices as much as possible before I leave.  So here's one final pre-departure blog post.

In the midst of my preparation for Semester at Sea, I made a visit to the bank where I fetched about 25 American dollars worth of currency from each of the countries I’ll be visiting (well, except for Ghana and Viet Nam because they weren’t available).

Of course, I examined the differences between the bills themselves.  Yeah, the colors, sizes, textures, what have you, are all obvious contrasts, but what I looked at the most was what appeared on each one.  Bank notes are a way in which a country can display its cultural values because it’s exchanged nationwide, and even internationally, for all to see and use, and currency is clearly an blatant representation of a country’s identity.  I liked seeing that a bust of a different animal is showcased on each denomination of South African Rand instead of a old or dead government figure.  

However, what struck me the most was the size of the stacks that I received.  For instance, I was given a pretty sizable stack of Indian rupees, but I also got only a single bank note from Japan.  These two have the same exact face value, but how far that value goes in each country is very different.  How much can you stretch a dollar, or shall I say a rupee or a yen?  If anything, we can see the disparities in wealth across the world through the way their currency works.  Each of my 10 rupee notes, with Gandhi staring back at me and text in 15 different languages, can equate to a complete meal on the table (or so I assume).  Each of those 10 rupee notes is about a quarter in American dollars.  I'm pretty sure all a single quarter has gotten me was a horrible temporary tattoo from a gumball machine.  How many times have you disregarded your change as you got your morning latte?  That change can impart a lot of change in the lives of others.  (I see what you did there, Pauly.)

However, I’m not trying to give you a front row seat on the guilt trip.  I’m not saying to take your change and ship it to the world’s most poor.  What I’m saying is to be cognizant of these disparities in wealth.  By no means am I daring you to feed your family on a quarter, but I am, in fact, daring you to be aware that someone on the other side of the world indeed can.  I’m not telling you that you should change your lifestyle, but I want you to know that what you think is a meager living in America would be an absolute luxury elsewhere.  Poverty is relative.

Basically, what I’m trying to sum up here is that you must be thankful for your privilege.  What you do with that privilege is up to you.  You can decide in what way you display it, and I urge you to not belittle it, as long as you know how much it affects your life and how the lack of it affects another around the world.  Do not underestimate what is within your reach, and if you choose to utilize your privilege to provide that same kind of autonomy for someone else, I commend you.  With thankfulness will inevitably come compassion, empathy, and respect, all of which the world can clearly benefit if it were in abundance.

So be fortunate as you sip your frilly Starbucks drink.  I know I am.  Because in other circumstances, that wouldn’t be possible.

Beginning at the End

With the time I have left until I leave for Semester at Sea, the countdown has switched from days to hours.  I am a self-diagnosed anxious wreck, so it’s not the trip itself that is worrisome but the waiting for it to happen that’s irking me.  Also, it doesn’t really help when people keep telling me about the cruise sinking off the coast of Italy just a few days ago.

As the goodbyes and well-wishes keep coming, I get more and more tense about my upcoming voyage, and I keep trying to put myself at ease.  I feel like a lot of this anxiety will be put to rest by thinking about the lexicon and the terminology we use for goodbyes.

I feel like there’s a certain attitude with which we say goodbye.  As much as people say that they can’t wait for me to come back, there is a certain air of permanency  to bidding a farewell.  I think this lack of distinction in the length of a goodbye lies in the fact that there aren’t any good words that are really used enough to differentiate a “see you later” from a “have a good life.”  The first thing that comes to mind is the difference between “Adieu” and “Au revoir” in French.  The former, meaning literally “To God,” means a farewell forever, while the latter means “until we see each other again.”  And yes, of course, there is always that possibility that each goodbye could be your last, but I’d like to think that our goodbyes, and technically all goodbyes, are more in the attitude of an “Au revoir” instead of an “Adieu.”

Anyway, I seem to over-analyzing language lately.  I always tell people that I’ll be circumnavigating the globe because it sounds so darn cool.  I’m like Magellan... well, hopefully without the whole getting killed half-way through part.

The whole essence of circumnavigation is returning to the start.  It’s a circuitous, circular movement of beginning at one fixed point, and going around until you’ve returned to that point.  I keep thinking of the destinations where I will be going, and I can’t help but equate these as the pit stops and detours I’m taking until I get to my true destination: the same place where I started.  Honestly, circumnavigation is logically pointless.  Why go through all the toil of sailing around the world just to end up in the same place?  It’s because the toil is what makes the experience worthwhile.

Think of it this way.  It’s a race course, and the start and finish line are at the same spot.  The object of the race is to get to the finish line.  If one person stays put while the other runs the length of the track, did the person who was dormant win?  If they were already at the finish line, why move?  But how about the person who ran?  As he (or she) approaches the finish line, the other guy (or girl) is already there.  What was the point of running in the first place?  It’s the longing of reaching a destination.  While you’re running, you realize why you’re doing it, and this is when all of that unnecessary running becomes worth it.

So, long story short, the beginning and the end are just the same with some filler in between.  This filler is what makes a journey, for if it didn’t exist, you didn’t actually go anywhere.

I really should spend some time away from a computer.  It’s slightly pathetic.  So, as a final note, scattered about this post are some photos for the project from my starting point, or shall I say my finish line?  Most of them are scenes from my neighborhood or things I stumbled on during my walk around Manhattan today.  One photo that specifically struck me was the one of the manhole cover which says "Made in India" on it.  I'll make sure to try to take a picture with something made in the USA while over there.

Oh, and one last thing: Au revoir!

A House Is Not a Home

As I spend my final days at home, I begin to be more aware of the things that I love about New York.  This seems to happen to me each time I leave because I guess it gives me lasting memories of the sights of my city that I find integral to its identity that I will remember in my absence from it.  Images of small Mexican ladies selling churros neatly stacked on aluminum foil platters atop fold-out laundry carts or small children eagerly staring out of the windows at the train tracks on the subway as it whizzes by the projects come to mind.

So in light of this pondering, I thought of my construction of the concept of “home.”  Of course, I referred to the Oxford English Dictionary for its definition which is: “the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household:”  

Now, I have several qualms about this.  In dissecting the definition, I had the following concerns:

-A place denotes a kind of physical arena in which a home can exist, though  “home” can be something as simple as an idea, and with this is mind, one cannot live in an idea, so I do not like the appearance of the word “lives,” either.

-Permanency is unclear; it implies unwavering and perpetual constancy which may continue forever, and we all know that nothing lasts forever.  In that sense, permanency is a moot term.

-The idea of family can be misconstrued as well, for what are our definitions of kinship?  Family boundaries change, so what does that mean in terms of “home?”  And we can already tell that I don’t particularly enjoy the term “household” in the definition either because, like I already said, the house is a physical structure, and collectively existing in a space does not necessarily mean it is a home.

As you can see, I am not a fan of this Oxford definition.  I have caught myself on many occasions calling the University of Rochester my home.  I do not live there permanently, nor am I part of a family there.  I can probably go on and on about how any idea of home that you may have will violate this definition in some way unless your only construction of home is one in which you dwell inside a house along with with your kin for all of eternity.

I sought another definition to lessen my anger, so I referred to Merriam-Webster which defines home not only as a place of residence, but also as “a familiar or usual setting” and a “congenial environment.”

Now these definitions I approve.  How I interpret home is an environment, whether that be physical or figurative, where one feels comfort, especially in its familiarity.  Now I shall dissect my own definition in order to explain it in less ostentatious terminology.

A home can be any place in which one can repeatedly find solace.  The feeling of comfort in this place does not denote a physical comfort as much as it is an emotional contentment.  Finding this comfort on a consistent basis makes it a more concrete so that one can return to this same place for the same fulfillment.  I think I’m even losing myself in this explanation, but what I’m trying to say is that it’s probably a lot harder to refute my claim of what a home is than the definition given by the Oxford English Dictionary.

Taking this into consideration, my home is not only this house in the Bronx in which I am currently writing this.  My neighborhood and the Bronx in its entirety is my home.  It is my stomping grounds.  It is mine.  Not only is this house with the red awning and my parents’ well tended plants on the porch my home.  Not only is my room filled with color coded magazine clippings my home.  So is the graffiti on the garage door, the dog shit in abundance on the sidewalk, and the bodega down the street.

Not only is my home the Bronx, but it is also New York City as a whole.  I know the subway system like the back of my hand, I roam the streets like I run them, and I explore with an undeniable curiosity.

Not only is my home New York City, but it is also my community at the University of Rochester where I have made countless friendships which I hope will never end, experienced things which have opened my eyes, and gained knowledge which has altered my world view.

Not only is my home these cities and communities, but it is also the world.  As I circumnavigate this vast-yet-not-so-vast globe, I will acquire a sense of world citizenship  and encounter lands which will no longer be unfamiliar.

And not only is my home these physical entities, but it is also my mind where I think of all of this nonsense and where I am most myself.

So I just babbled on about home, but it really gets me thinking about what this loaded term really means.  We must all reconsider our own definitions of home, as they may be very limiting.  What I can say of these meanderings is that we all need a home and, for our own sake, it is our duty to find what that is.

The Beginning

I'm about to embark on a journey of a lifetime.  Yeah, yeah, that sounds so banal, but I'm not sure how else to describe it.  As many of you may know, in just a week, I will be heading to Nassau, Bahamas to board the MV Explorer on the Semester at Sea program.  In the next 105 days, I will be circumnavigating the globe, visiting a total of 15 ports in a dozen countries across 4 continents (if we count the United States as one of those countries and our final destination of San Diego as a port).

For those of you reading this who I don't know yet, my name is Paul.  I'm a 20 year old from the Bronx, New York.  I'm a junior attending the University of Rochester where I designed my own major called the Globalization of Music & Dance Culture which integrates my love for singing, booty-shaking, and figuring out why people around the world choose to do those things in the first place.  In short, I want to use cultural arts as a tool for improving refugee health.  But that story shall be saved for another day.  In other words, I want to travel the world and change it as much as it changes me.

Right now, I am preparing for a three-and-a-half month journey around the world, and as you can imagine, it's quite stressful.  I, for one, am not the best when it comes down to dealing with stress, so instead, I am writing this first entry of my blog where I will track my progress around the globe and share my insights of the entire experience.

Now you may be thinking, "Paul... why the hell is your travel blog called 'Shoe-mester at Sea?'"  You may not be thinking that.  Either way, you're getting an explanation.

I love shoes.  Memories of that horrible YouTube video sensation from a few years back may come to mind.  However, that's not exactly what I mean.  I've been thinking of doing some kind of art project dealing with shoes for a while now, and I'm taking this semester as an opportunity to do so.

I'm sure each of you have owned a pair of Converse shoes or some variation thereof.  Y'know what, any sneaker will do.  Or even boots.  Really, this idea can be applied to lots of shoes, but trusty old Chuck Taylors come to mind first.  When you first take them out of the box, they are in such pristine condition.  And you're slightly irked by it.  Chucks only look good when they're worn out and dirty.  Once they're grimy and disgusting, they seem to have their own personality, of sorts.  I've caught myself taking a fresh pair of Converses and beating them in the dirt, purposefully stepping in mud, and scuffing them all over.  However, these deliberate actions never truly deliver the results I want.  Eventually, after multiple wearings, these shoes take on the identity that you give them.  As you simply just walk around, they naturally retain the stains, dirt, and slime of the world.  They finally become presentable, and you can wear them with pride.  They will continue to wear down until the canvas rips at the most inconvenient time and the soles wear down in the middle of a thunderstorm, and you have to walk home with sadness on your face and what seems like the world's entire water supply in your socks.

So putting this in mind, we want our shoes to get dirty, and the only way to do that is to just let them get dirty on their own.  By simply living, we see our shoes transform into a weathered version of their former selves which reflect where we have been and what we did in them.  In a way, our shoes are a living canvas where the world leaves its own masterpiece.  They are a blank slate which tells our story.  We often think that we are leaving our own footprint on the world, but we fail to recognize that the world is leaving something with us, too.  It is through our feet that we are truly connected to the world.  It is how we know that we are planted on this earth, and it is through our feet that we create our paths, go on our journeys, and make a difference.

So this is my project.  I bought a brand-spankin'-new pair of natural canvas Toms.  I chose Toms for the simplicity of the design, their current fad-status in our society, the philanthropic idea that this one pair of shoes provided a pair of shoes for child in need who I could technically encounter on this trip, and the fact that the shoes are made of canvas make them the perfect, well... canvas.  They are a very versatile and deceptively comfortable shoe as well, so that is definitely a plus as I trek around the globe.  I will wear these every day (or as close to every day as possible) and chronicle my trip through my shoes.

I plan on taking numerous photos in each destination which depict the state of the shoes on my feet as well as the location where those feet standing.  Eventually, I hope that these pictures can be compiled in some kind of montage that will provide me some fond memories of this trip for years and years to come and to give you all a look at what it's like to walk in my shoes.

So here begins my project.  This is the first photo.  It was taken in my living room with a poster that I made a few months ago that I'll be taking with me to track my trip.  On a map of the world, I superimposed letters that I cut out of some more maps forming one of my favorite quotes which seems to be very suitable for my current situation.  I couldn't think of a better place to start what I hope will be a life-changing experience.