#YOLO?

It's been six months since embarked on the MV Explorer for the Spring 2012 voyage around the world.

In those six months, I can proudly say that I've seen some of the best the world has to offer, and I know that it has ignited my passion to continue searching for those gems.  It has changed my life (well, then again, what hasn't?), and I am so glad that took the chance and met so many gracious people and made memories that will last a lifetime.

However, I really hope that six months from today, I won't be writing a similar sentiment like this about how it's been a year since I went on my journey.

For the past few days, I've been looking at old pictures and videos and reliving what it was like living on a ship for a few months and being plopped in a new country every few days, doing anything and everything possible.  I keep thinking about how lucky I am to have seen those places, where many would die to visit, that I can simply just check off my bucket list.

But…  I would hate to keep living in the past.  "Remember when dotdotdot?  Oh, yeah!  That was when so-and-so was at wherever and they blahblahblah?  God, I would love to go back to blank."

It's time to stop asking, "Remember that time in Cape Town?" and to start thinking, "When am I going back? (shout-out to Jessi Lee)"  Instead of thinking about the few hours we were in Mauritius or Singapore, how about we return there and stay for a few days?  A few months, or even a few years?  No more looking at pictures of climbing mountains and eating unknown food.  Now is the time to go and do it… again.

This is one place where I find the YOLO motto a perfect fit.  You indeed only live once.  So why think about the past you've already lived when you can just simply continue living?

So cheers to that, my friends.  And #YOLO.

A Taxi Ride Down Memory Lane

You never really know what’s gonna set off your memory.

Last night, at 3AM, coming home from a club in Downtown Chicago, I was seated smack-dab in the middle of a tiny cab in between people I hardly knew.  It felt all too familiar.

All the late nights around the world while on my epic voyage came to mind.  All those times when we would pack into taxis like they were clown cars.  “Look at those dumb Americans,” everyone must of thought.  Those rides were some of the best times.  Either we were on our way to an amazing adventure and anxiously waiting in anticipation for what was to come, or we were on our way home, our ship, the MV Explorer, reveling in what we just accomplished, panting for breath, and glad we survived in order to repeat the same process yet again the next day.

There were the incomprehensible taxi drivers.  Or rickshaw drivers.  Or even moto drivers.  Whether paying in rand or rupee (or real, but that is feigned alliteration since it’s actually pronounced with an initial ‘h’ sound), we could never really get the conversion rate just right.  We often overpaid, much to the driver’s content, though his price gauging felt justified since my chump change probably fed him and his family that day.

There were the roads.  The signs, the traffic, the animals.  But most of all the the people.  Pedestrians running across the street for dear life.  The female entrepreneurs selling goods from gargantuan baskets on their heads.

The most memorable thing, though, were my companions.  For a brief amount of time, we were sharing in the same journey.  Seeing the same things.  Experiencing the same confusion or joy or what-have-you.  Some of these rides were shared with some of my best friends, and some were shared with complete randos, and those times were one of the few instances in which it was ever acceptable to be sitting on a complete stranger’s lap.  The only other time I can think of when that's okay is if that stranger was in a Santa Claus costume during Christmastime, and even that’s a bit weird.

So my one lasting piece of advice or wisdom or whatever you want to call it is to keep having new experiences.  It’s gonna be a fun ride down memory lane when you realize they’re not so new after all.

All Aboard

As I sit here at JFK a month after disembarkation of the Semester at Sea Spring 2012 voyage, I think about the notion of temporariness.  This year so far, the longest I’ve been in a single place has been roughly a week and a half.  I’ve been moving non-stop, and it’s partially exhilarating while being equally depressing.  There’s a thrill to be found when in constant motion, but there’s the thought in the back of your head always yelling, “When will it all end?”

With this movement comes a slight discomfort.  Everything is new an familiar, and that’s fine and dandy, but there’s a safety in staying put and being normal.  I’ve never really been one to seek the banal, but sometimes, you kinda have to do that for sanity’s sake.  Too much difference can create a clash in your brain of what’s truly comfortable to the point that you don’t really know what that even is anymore.

Regardless, my flight to Chicago is in less than an hour.  I’m incredibly excited to intern at the National Office of GlobeMed, a noble NGO which I have already dedicated so much time, effort, and passion.  For those who are unaware, please check out the new globemed.org to find out what we’re all about.

After a few days in New York, I couldn’t hesitate but draw a comparison between our lives and journeys to the subway.  We all know how much I live and love the subway.

There are oh-so-many subway lines.  Whether those are named numbers, letters, colors, destinations, what-have-you, there are a trillion miles of track.  Each train follows a track and have frequent, or infrequent, stops.  Some go express.  Some follow the same track for a while and then branch apart.  Most importantly, subway lines intersect.  They meet with each other, and passengers are allowed to swap.  Sometimes, they only intersect once.  Sometimes, they meet several times.  Some train lines ever meet at all.  Rest assured, people can probably transfer a few times and finally get on a specific line.  That can often get complicated, but I guarantee, it’s possible.

I’d like to think of human connections much like the subway system.  We’re each our own subway line following the trajectory of our lives.  We all go at our own pace, taking stops along the way where we find other train tracks, other people, with whom we share ideas, stories, and experiences.  And then we keep going.  Sometimes, we follow the same track for a while and continue to share with each other.  But often, we separate and keep going.  There are many times where subway lines come together again at another stop, and that’s always a nice breath of fresh air.  Most of the time, they don’t.  However, through the intricate web of our social networks (just look at Facebook, for example), we’re never really too far away.  Somebody we meet here will know someone from so-and-so place or will be seeing someone at so-and-so place where they will intersect.  For all intents and purposes, we’re all one big subway system.  We’re all connected.

So as I sit here in Terminal 5 on transit to the next figurative train stop on my journey, I hope to see some of you there as much I would have loves to have taken you with me.  For those who I won’t see, I hope to see you on a detour some time down the road when, I hope, our train lines meet again.

In the mean time, I’ll just enjoy the ride.  For the rest of you, all aboard!

Shit I Learned This Semester: Spring 2012 Special Semester at Sea Edition

In true Paul fashion, I’ve finally written my list of shit I learned this past semester.  For the past few years, I’ve posted similar lists at the close of each term on my other blog (holdenpaulfield.blogspot.com), and who would I be if I just skipped the greatest semester of my life?  Of course, I acquired a world full of knowledge, but I wanted to write a more general list of things from which I think all of you could learn (even if it’s just a little bit).  I’ve had a good amount of time to think about this, and I know it’s probably not the most perfect list.  There’s no way to sum up all of the things I learned into a list of merely fifty points.  Regardless, I hope you enjoy it.

1. A beaming smile can get you a long way.
2. The Vietnamese are incredibly fond of bendy straws.
3. You must admit your weaknesses.
4. The ground is beautiful.
5. Doxycycline can cure anything.
6. The internet is a luxury.
7. People are more impressionable than you may think.
8. I am a serious nerd.
9. Do not underestimate the ability of a few American twenty-somethings to find the nearest bar.
10. Everyone loves KFC.
11. Technology helps build relationships while simultaneously hindering them.
12. There’s no such thing as being lost.
13. The only way to test your instincts by making mistakes.
14. Don’t be afraid to make those mistakes.
15. Children are the best inspiration.
16. Everyone needs alone time.
17. Sometimes, you just have to splurge a bit.
18. Wealth is relative.
19. It doesn’t take a lot to make someone happy.
20. There’s a buoy where the equator and prime meridian meet.
21. The world of academia is very small.
22. Haggling can be a very playful social interaction.
23. If you think you’ve acquired sea legs, you haven’t.
24. When shopping in Asia, you’re approximately three sizes larger than you thought.
25. Everything is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
26. It’s okay to be stubborn.
27. The best way to commemorate someone is by putting that person’s face on everything.
28. You will never truly know the things you take for granted.
29. Spontaneity will never disappoint.
30. Language is never a barrier to make friends.
31. The world is so much cooler when you’re not looking through a camera lens.
32. A brohawk can draw a lot of unwanted attention.
33. The most remarkable people are in disguise.
34. Much like crossing the street in Vietnam, you must be able to trust even when you’re feeling the most fearful.
35. 7-11 will never be the same again.
36. You are not alone.
37. Clear umbrellas are incredibly practical.
38. The beginning is also the destination.
39. You will never see most of the people you’ve met ever again.
40. Everything’s Gonna Be OK.
41. Take advice like a grain of salt.
42. People perceive you very differently than you perceive yourself.
43. Communism isn’t as scary as you think.
44. Find what you were looking for, then find something better.
45. There is nothing worse than living a life already planned.
46. You could still feel lonely in a crowded place.
47. There’s no possible way to remember everything.
48. You never really know how much someone has gone through to get where they are now.
49. It isn’t dark tofu.  It’s duck blood.
50. I love my life.  And you should love yours, too.

Rediscovery

After some time in the United States (coming on three weeks), I can confidently say that it’s eerie being back. I’ve gotten to reflect a lot, and I am still, of course, trying to process things. I’m sure that it’s a continual process, and it’s that fact which makes being back so weird. The constant discovery, or rediscovery, for that matter, of new ways of seeing the familiar is what’s irking me. After a few days of cavorting in San Diego, another few days recuperating at home in the Bronx, and a week-and-a-half visit to school at the University of Rochester, everything seems like they should be back to normal. For all intents and purposes, they are. I’m not going to exaggerate some kind of feigned epiphany. I know I came out of Semester at Sea a changed person, but I’m not going to rant on about it.

However, I find it a fun challenge being back “home.” Catching up with friends and pop culture has been an overwhelming and exhausting experience. “Call Me Maybe” is now permanently etched into my brain, and hearing gossip upon gossip is proving to be quite difficult to keep organized.

Here, I am including a piece entitled “How It Feels” written by fellow Spring ’12 SASer Bailey Gerber. I’ve heard the piece numerous times, and reading it over again after a few weeks has brought up even more memories. This account sums up things in a different way than I ever would, and it makes me realize the lens in which others who have experienced the same things have concurrently been affected. I laud it, and I give my utmost praise.

----

How This Feels

There is a Singapore rail pass, a receipt from a Vietnamese dressmaker, and a Kingfisher bottle cap on the bottom of my purse. I have been to Dominica, Brazil, Ghana, South Africa, Mauritius, India, Singapore, Vietnam, China and Japan. My trusty anti-theft money belt is now the home of rupees, rand, cedi, reals, dong, yuan, and yen… and I don't plan on cleaning it out anytime soon. I have done more and seen more than most people will in their entire lives. This is how it feels to have a dream come true.

Where I used to see shapes on a map I now see people; beggars, politicians, drug dealers, philanthropist, thieves, travelers, parents, children and in many countries, angels. Everyday I have seen the best and worst that humanity has to offer. I have been ripped off, misguided, threatened, spit on and cursed out more times than I can count. I have also been brought to tears by the generosity of a complete stranger. We have all had to trust, especially in the taxi, tuk tuk, tro tro, rickshaw, and moto drivers- but above all, we have had to trust each other. We have experienced each other's good, bad and ugly, like really ugly…like day five of the Amazon ugly. Though we were strangers three months ago, we have shared moments of intense fear, hopelessness, bliss and inexpressible gratitude. We have supported each other through meltdowns, travel group drama and of course- missed FDPs. We have watched each other come of age, overcome fears and forge new identities…sometimes in the form of a nose ring or a panda hat.

I have gained an extreme amount of weight- or as I like to see it now- I have gained baby weight of my cultural and intellectual rebirth. But really – it's not like I was going to skip the Nan in India, the pho in Vietnam or the fan ice in Ghana (or the birthday cake on deck five). Although I won't miss the pasta and potatoes, I will always long for one more long dinner on deck 5. This ship must be the only place on earth where five college kids can have a three-hour dinner without being interrupted by text messages or Facebook notifications. Those long dinners will forever be among my most precious memories. Whether we were planning our weddings or trying to process India, I always felt most at home during dinnertime. May we always remember the freedom of being unplugged and out of touch and the magic of living in the moment with the people sitting around us.

I finally have the lingo down. I use words like deck, swell, port, berth, tymitz, green sheet, and quarantine. I know that breakfast means deck 6 and dinner means deck 5, unless it's inedible then its up to deck 7. I no longer worry about the pub night schedule or whether or not my clothes match when I run to global studies. I still don't know the last names of the majority of my friends - even though I can probably name their school, major, hometown and how they handle stressful situations. Like all SAS kids, I too have spent my fair share of time wondering if the peanut butter is actually soy butter or if the mythical stabilizers are out. I tell time by ports, using phrases like "We became friends after Ghana" or "I haven't been to the gym since Singapore." Even though I know there are 367 days in our SAS year, I haven't actually known the day of the week since we left the Bahamas. My closet is now an eclectic showcase of all the latest trends in tourist couture- I realize as I am writing this I am wearing pants from India, a shirt from China and bracelet from Brazil. I can't wait until I accidently pull out a Rand to pay for a cup of coffee or find a Family Mart receipt for five JapaneseStrongs in my coat pocket.

Though I will miss this ship- the garden lounge, the union and the cove. It's the people I will miss the most. I can't imagine life without the eggrolls, the SASholes, the shipsters, the pastels, Mizaram, Nalbach, Takada and of course the amazing crew- especially Achilles. I can already hear Stuart's voice in the back of my head before all major life events… "Graduation tomorrow- Graduation tomorrow."

It is funny to look back now- at photos of our old selves, before our dreams came true and the world changed us. You never forget the first person you met- hi ace! We looked so put-together, wondering the ship with our nametags on… now we look like day three of a Grateful Dead festival. However you describe it- backpacker chic, pirate swag - this scraggily bunch of college kids is now a force to be reckoned with …and I am proud to be among them.

As emerald shellbacks we have gone on safari in Africa, tried yoga in India, and enjoyed a few drinks in Mauritius. We have accidently hung out at a prostitute bar in Ghana and caused a 300% revenue increase for that 7/11 in Hong Kong (the same goes for the Krazy Koconut in Dominica and Captain's in Shanghai). We understand the frustration of being lost in a cruise ship terminal, a subway station and of course, Makola market. We have built houses, fed the hungry, meditated with monks and stood breathless as we visited 3 of the 7 wonders of the world. We now know that no public restroom in the US could ever match the horror of an Indian squatter… and we always know – no matter where we go, there will always be Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pitbull on the radio, and convenient store liquor. We have survived Brazilian rum, Ghanaian gin, South African wine, Vietnamese beer, and Japanese sake…and we have the stories to prove it. We will never forget the theme songs: "I Love my Life" in Dominica, "TIA" in Ghana, "Waka Waka" in Cape Town- and if you traveled with me in India, you will never forget dancing on the bus to "Chaiyya Chaiyya."

We are professionals now. We have learned the tricks of travel and how to walk with absolute confidence-- no matter how lost we actually are. We have slept with out wallets, tied ourselves to our backpacks and carried index cards with "please take me to my hotel" written in various languages. We know now it's best not to admit it is your first day in a country, especially when bargaining. We are now masters at the "walk away" technique and know that if the shopkeeper is happy- we definitely paid too much. We can spot a fake swatch or Prada bag from a mile away and all the while we wonder if the Tom's in Africa are fake or stolen. Red flags shoot up every time we hear phrases like "I give you good price", "Come meet my friend" or "Here brother, sister- have a look." We now know that asking about people's children and hobbies is the fastest way to drive down a price (and turn a greedy shopkeeper into an honest friend).

We have learned the importance of pronouncing people's names correctly and even more importantly learning the words "please and thank you" in every language. We have mastered the art of the discrete picture taking, whether we were trying to capture the serenity of a monk or the desperation of a child, we have captured moments that exist beyond description. Even if we took 1,000 photos- images can't convey the smells, tastes and sounds that made each moment real- and maybe now we realize that the magic really begins when we stop experiencing life from behind the lens and fully immerse ourselves in the moment.

We could have done a million other things this semester- stayed at home, studied in one country… but we didn't. At this exact moment in time we came together- to learn and grow and to forever be the kids of Spring 12. Although we were a special breed before the MV (lets be honest- it takes a special person to drop everything and sail around the world with complete strangers…without any real plans)- now we are just bizarre. We lived on a cruise ship. We sailed around the world. We went to a university that had a gangway and a pool deck. We must be the only people on Earth who had classes canceled so we could cross the equator or watch our friends in a synchronized swimming competition. Our lives are epic and we are epic… and I know it is just the beginning.

Although we are a pretty confident bunch, we still have our fears. Fears like getting off the ship, losing touch, or getting that first text message. We worry that we will be strangers to our family and friends and that no one will ever understand us again. We will lie awake at night wondering what we will do with our lives to top this experience or how to make this semester count. Deep down we all really have one fear- that we haven't changed, that we haven't grown enough and that we will settle back into our old ways of being. We will walk off the gangway in San Diego wondering: "now how do I make this the beginning not the pinnacle?" It seems daunting now, figuring out a way to make our new selves function in our old lives- and not bark at our friends when they complain about traffic, class or being hungry. After Ghana, I will never complain about having to read for class again. I get now how lucky I am just to be able to.

As alum, we will be a hard bunch to overwhelm, to scare or discourage. After waking up to a tarantula in Brazil or walking through a row of beggars in India, nothing really fazes us now. Things that once seemed "difficult" months ago are no longer remotely intimidating. We did this… now we can do anything.

Although we may be unfazed, may we never be "unimpressed." May we always be delighted by the wonders of world and find magic in every place and person- not just in the monuments or celebrities- but in everywhere we go. May we always see the world though these eyes- the eyes of youth and hope. May we stay optimistic and stay positive… and may we always stay a little naïve-for no other reason besides being young rocks. May we remember the things we said we would do- the people we promised we would help… and may we never forget the moments when we felt anything was possible….may we always remember the person we wanted to become. May we always see the world as an opportunity and a challenge- and may we wake up every morning ready to conquer it.

So as the moments slip away and we try to pack the last three months into two suitcases… may we smile bigger, breath deeper and soak it all in. However you want to say it- You Only Live Once, Love Life, Capre Diem, or Life is short… do it big and do it now… because this is all we have and we are the luckiest people alive. Of course we are lucky because we just sailed around the world and had 1,000 eye-opening experiences, but the luckiest because we have each other… and may we always have each other.

Shoe-Mester at Sea: The Video

Here is is... the moment you've all been waiting for: the video.

There's so much more to it that this tiny description, but I want to keep it quaint for now.

Packed in my suitcase for the Semester at Sea Spring 2012 Voyage was a pair of brand-spankin'-new natural canvas Toms. In order to chronicle my circumnavigation, I wore the shoes and took numerous photos in each destination which depict the state of the shoes on my feet as well as the location where those feet standing. This slideshow is a montage to give you all a look at what it was like to truly walk in my shoes.

This project has been both a blessing and a curse, and I'd have it no other way. I am so proud of the outcome of this project, and I am even more content in the way I see the world as a result. The world is full of beautiful things, but we tend to overlook them... especially if they're on the ground. Our true connection to the earth is through our feet. We tend to hear all the time that we need to leave our footprint on the world, but more importantly: how is the world leaving its mark on us? I think it's quite evident through my shoes that the world has made a lasting imprint on me.

Homecoming

As the MV Explorer sailed out of Nassau, Bahamas, the last thing in my mind was pulling into our disembarkation port of San Diego three and a half months later.  As I sit on my US Airways flight across the country, I realize how much has happened in between those two points in time.  It’s a little daunting to think about it.  It’s still surreal to me that I won’t be returning to the ship tonight (or any night in the near future) and sailing off to a new distant location.  Instead, I’m on the way back to the Bronx, New York, otherwise known as the place I call home.

The last few days on the ship were bittersweet to say the least.  After leaving Hawaii, we were bombarded with a slathering of final exams.  After all of the last minute studying (and not completely bombing the Global Studies test), we all got to spend a couple of days packing, saying goodbye, reminiscing, and thinking.  Thinking about our journey and what was up for us once we landed.  It was a whirlwind of emotion: from the Alumni Ball and signing each other’s maps as mementos to packing all of my international goodies into two bags and giving back my ship ID card.  The time at the end just seemed to fly by so fast by the end; I can still feel the cold of the rain against my skin and the warmth of a steaming bowl of ramen in Tokyo as if it were yesterday.  It seemed like the voyage would never end.  And then it did.

After two very relaxing days in San Diego (including a final dinner with my core group of friends and their families who came to pick them up), I am 32,000 feet in the air getting ready for my epic homecoming from my epic voyage.  In a few hours, I can say what very few can: I have completely circumnavigated the globe.

Memory

As I sit here on the last night of my voyage, I begin to reminisce about the past few months. As you can imagine, it's a blur. I'm not quite sure how to begin thinking about what has happened in the past 105 days. I keep seeing snapshots in my brain of many of the things I've seen and experienced as I've circumnavigated the globe. The blue waters of from the plane to the Bahamas. Hiking too far in the rainforest in Dominica. The view from the top balcony of the Teatro Amazonas. The feeling of hot fufu between my fingers. Sitting in a garage in Gugulethu. Sweating in a small kitchen in a market in Port Louis. Walking barefoot on the grounds of the Taj Mahal. Illegally jaywalking in Singapore. The smell of pho bubbling. Getting gypped on Shanghai's Cheap Street. Standing in the pouring rain amidst the lights in the electronics district of Tokyo. Laughing while I bought soaps in Hilo. And sitting here right now.

There was so much more in between that connects all of it together. Some that I remember. Some that I don't.

As I think about these experiences, some of which seem so long ago, I begin to grapple with the concept of memory. What is it exactly? I should know this because I've taken some classes on brain and cognitive sciences, but I couldn't really tell you. Is it just a bunch of pictures in our heads? Are there Post-It Notes that remind us of the tactile experiences? Does our brain highlight the sensory details in bright neon yellow? Why do I remember the topic of my second grade science fair project and not what I ate for dinner tonight? Who knows?

It's been a little difficult trying to pick out a few things that have stood out to me while on Semester at Sea. And it's supposed to be hard. What I've concluded is that memory doesn't work like an appendix at the end of a book that can be be used for reference. You can't just Ctrl+F the good stuff (or Command-F for us Mac users). It's more alive and sporadic than that. There's no controlling your memory. The weirdest thing will spark something in your head. So if I struggle to recall what I did "that time in 'Nam," or any other time, I apologize if I can't produce a good story for you. That's just not how memory works. For right now, this is just a huge blur that I'm still trying to comprehend, and it will take time for it to sharpen. In the meantime, I'll just keep experiencing things and hope my brain will remember them.

"I'm Not The Same"

If you know me at all, you'd know that I kinda hate poetry. Especially if it rhymes. But here's a poem written by a Semester at Sea alum that my resident director, Terrie Tran, read to the Bering Sea at our last (and very heartfelt) final meeting. It sums everything up pretty darn well. So as I go on into my final days on the MV Explorer, between all the finals and packing and preparation, I hope to reflect just like this.


"IʼM NOT THE SAME."
By Natalie Lou Ritter

Forgive me, Mom, Iʼm Not the Same
I think you knew that I would change
I couldnʼt stay so long at sea
And not come home a different me.

Iʼve been to the Mekong; the Amazon, too
The things that Iʼve done: if only you knew.
Iʼve paraglided in the Andes Mountains
Said a prayer at Hiroshima fountains
Iʼve jumped off of cliffs down river gorges
And from the Ganges saw burning corpses
Iʼve seen the Taj; Climbed the Great Wall
Iʼve Jumped Out of Planes; Iʼve done it All
Climbed to the Golden Rock in Myanmar
I Donʼt think I ever have climbed that far.
Monasteries, Pagodas, Temples and Shrines
Horseback riding in Stellenbosch; sampling wines
I dove with sharks and jumped off a bridge
I Forced Myself to Really Live.

Sure, All these things can be relayed
In the photo albums thatʼll be displayed
But to convey all this will be demanding—
Experience is Nothing Without Understanding.

So Forgive me, Mom, if I Start To Cry
For all of the things I really canʼt describe:
Walking next to dead bodies in the road
Not reaching out to a childʼs hand to hold.
The people in poverty and those afraid to speak
For fear if they do, theyʼll be in jail the next week
Because their government has such a watchful eye.
All the people with AIDS, getting ready to die.
The beggars in India who walk on their hands
Because theyʼre diseased and unable to stand
And the people in shacks who sleep inches apart
Offer only a smile and it rips out my heart

Iʼve seen beauty and devastation
Iʼve felt sorrow; Iʼve felt elation
Iʼve seen birth and Iʼve felt death;
Forgive me, Mom, but what is left?

So if you could, Mom, just give me time
When I come home, let me unwind
I need a moment to just. Stand. Still.
Please understand (Iʼm sure you will)

I couldnʼt stay so long at sea
And not come home a different me
So long as I change, the world changes, too
But be proud, Mom, because I came from you.

Hello Hilo

My time in Hilo was very short-lived.  It was one of our "pit stop" ports: we were there for only about 10 hours to recharge.  You can only imagine that you gotta stop somewhere while crossing the Pacific Ocean.

The story starts when we arrived in Honolulu the previous day.  We were docked there in the morning to refuel and go through immigrations.  While we were docked in Honolulu, we were not permitted to leave the ship, so everyone was on the top deck getting some sun and (supposedly) studying for upcoming finals.  Since we were on American soil, our cellphones were picking up reception.  It had seemed like people's phones had just risen from the dead, and this resurrected mutant zombie phone surgically attached itself to each person's ear the entire time at port.  I can't pretend like I wasn't a culprit of these things: I am completely sunburned all over because I lost track of time while chatting up a storm on my phone.  It was well worth it, though.  We left for the Big Island that evening and arrived there the following day.

By the looks of Honolulu from the ship, it was a sizable city where palm trees seemed to coexist perfectly with the modern-looking buildings.  Arriving to Hilo the next day looked different.  It was a lot more remote, simple, and demure.  We haven't really seen something of the sort since Port Louis or Kochi.  Of course, it could still be considered a city, depending on your definition of one, and it was chock full of culture.  In my head, it was as if we were still in a different country that was stuck in a time period I'd say was around the '60s.  The only reminder that I was back in the states was the fact that I was using the American dollar.  Other than that, it was incredibly peculiar in the best ways.

Walking around in the small Downtown Hilo area was exciting.  Hilo is one of the wettest places in the world, and the sporadic rain didn't stop the locals from going about their business.  Most of the people were Hawaiian Natives and Asian immigrants, and there was a noticeable population of those I would consider "hipsters," including the cheeky fellow who sold me cleverly named soaps at the Farmer’s Market who looked like he was straight from Williamsburg.  Amidst the Hawaiian handicraft stores were restaurants with cuisines from all around the world: Thailand, China, and Mexico were quite prevalent.  I wish I had more time to peruse the shops and talk to the very interesting vendors at the outdoor market.  The people were so nice, it hurt.

It was a pretty slow day, and I didn't get to do nearly as much as I wanted to do.  I guess by this point in time, I should have just calmed down and decided to just take in the scenery.  I just didn't want to waste such precious time.  I would get antsy when I lost people, but then I realized that I could call them.  It was weird calling to find someone because I've had to rely on trust and patience up until this point when meeting up with people.  At the same time, it was almost calming without my phone; it took me back to the days when everyone wasn't attached to an electronic device with which we could contact a person if we were running late.  I'd like to think that I won't be as reliant on technology once I get back home.

While downtown, I wandered into a quaint guitar shop, and Hayden assisted me in buying a simple beginner’s ukulele. It’s a pretty darn nice souvenir, and because it’s Paul-sized, it’s the perfect instrument.  I definitely need a lot of practice, but don’t be surprised if you’ll be getting a few concerts from me in the future.  Hayden, a seasoned uke player, got his fourth, a hip and resonant Fluke.


Though we were so limited on time, I never would have thought that I would have spent a couple of hours in the back of a parking lot of a loco moco place, but it will probably be my favorite memory of Hilo.  To backtrack, a “loco moco” is a local delight.  If you’re from Rochester, you would compare it to a garbage plate.  It is a dish comprised of a ton of local favorites: a whole bunch of rice, a hamburger patty, an egg, and spam, or anything else really, slathered in a gravy sauce.  Of course, there were a million and a half different variations on the loco moco, and whichever one you may want, Cafe 100 was the place to get it.  Behind Cafe 100 was a beautiful lagoon lined with palm trees that people would have probably considered a normal sight.  It probably would have been likened to a dingy back alleyway in New York City.  Nonetheless, the large expanse behind the parking lot was so picturesque.  Us boys took out out brand new ukuleles and the girls took out their cameras.  Who needs a beach?  We spent two hours just enjoying each other’s company realizing that this was really one of the last times we’d probably be doing this ever.

I felt very comfortable with the Hawaiian sensibility: slow, pleasant, natural, hospitable, and delicious are adjectives that come to mind when I think about it.  These islands have rich cultural roots and the people identify with them very strongly.  However, these roots are not culturally homogenous; they are a harmonious mixture of influences from around the world working together to create a great culture of which I’m jealous I’m not a part.  A tiny sliver of myself would love to move here because it is different and exotic while still quintessentially American.  If I call you in ten years and tell you I've moved to Hawaii, don't be surprised.

As I was getting back on the ship, I realized that it was the last time I'd ever be walking up the stairs to board the MV Explorer.  It was a pretty sad moment.  My journey will be over in less than a week.

Transnational Identities in International Travel: My Global Studies Essay

Throughout my journey around the Golden Triangle of Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur in North India, I was being greeted warmly left and right by swarms of people saying the same thing. “Konichiwa!,” they would yell out at me, and I would simply laugh or smile back in response. They thought I was Japanese. It was quite understandable why they had this assumption: though some would argue that I have some racially ambiguous features, there is no hiding my outwardly Asian appearance. I am of Filipino-American heritage, and even at home in New York, I am no stranger to getting mistakenly labeled as anything but that.

While on the Indian Railways train at the crack of dawn from Delhi to Agra, I was seated next to what seemed like the only other tourists on the entire train: a duo of young, enthusiastic Japanese men. As I sipped on a tiny five rupee cup of steaming hot chai, the Indian family on the other side of the berth interrogated us about our origins and whereabouts as if they were police investigators. They, too, thought that I was Japanese, and I had to debunk their claim of my identity. In a similar fashion, I had questioned them in return. The most important question I asked was why they thought I was Japanese. “It’s a big holiday in Japan, and they’re all here right now. And the Japanese love India, and we love them!” I guess their assumption was pretty valid since I was, in fact, sitting next to two guys who were perfect examples of these statements. Just like many other times along my trek through India, we ended our conversation by taking a few pictures together as proof that we had crossed paths.

Fast-forward to Vietnam where the perception of my nationality was in stark contrast to my experience in India. I was immediately able to tell a difference because, while most hawkers on the street would boast their goods or shove their pamphlets to the typical Eurocentric-looking tourist, I was more often than not spared of that nuisance. There were many times when shopkeepers and other locals would begin speaking to me in Vietnamese, and I would politely gesture to inform them that I was indeed an English-speaking American. Their reactions had a wide range but usually consisted of a combination of confusion, interest, and joy. Confusion about what my true identity was, interest in how that became so, and joy because, for a reason I still do not quite understand, the Vietnamese are extremely fond of Americans despite the troubled and brutal shared history of conflict between the two nations only a few decades ago.

One night when going to a nice restaurant filled with a fair amount of other tourists, I walked into the establishment with a group of other Semester at Sea students. While showing us to our table, the host initiated conversation with me in Vietnamese just as many other locals did. Once again, I went through the little jig I knew all too well about being American. He gasped and began apologizing profusely, “I just thought you were Vietnamese, I’m so sorry!” He went on with this apologetic behavior thinking that he had offended me somehow, though I found it quite flattering. “You look like a Vietnamese,” he kept saying to me in a somewhat pained and frantic tone. He made it known to me that he made an honest mistake, and didn’t want me to feel out of place, awkward, or unwanted in his homeland.

As much and I stood out in the earlier ports, and as much as I seemingly fit in at many of the later ones, I had split feelings about the situation. In every country on the itinerary before Singapore, I wished nothing but to blend in because I didn’t want to be targeted as some kind of ignorant tourist as per Jamaica Kincaid’s description of such a traveler in A Small Place: one who perpetuates exploitative imperialist legacies and diminishes the validity of local sentiments. From Singapore onwards, it felt awkward that all I wanted was the complete opposite of how I felt previously: to differentiate myself as a foreigner because I hated being mistaken as a local somewhere I was clearly out of place. I was an outsider, but I did not want to be defined as solely that. This is the plight of the international traveler with a transnational identity.

The forces of globalization, especially in respect to the movement of people around the world, has complicated notions of identity, whether that be one fashioned by the individual or imposed by a larger group. With this in mind, the idea of national and racial identity begins to blur as people continue to move around. These distinctions become less concrete since one’s location is no longer fixed to a singular place nor is identity defined as a sole ideal. For that matter, not only do we as travelers struggle to fit into the narrow classifications available to us, but even those who we have encountered on our journey are becoming globalized. This just comes to show the ever-growing diversity which we should embrace. Of course, these differences in identities have probably been the root to many of the world’s conflicts, but the acceptance of the plurality of identities has also been a source of pride and a sign of prosperity. We can take post-Apartheid South Africa as an example of a country plagued with a history of racism which is now a vibrant world power in the making. What I know for a fact is that the African principle of ubuntu pervades our lives more than ever. No matter how uniquely we may identify ourselves as individuals, we are all global citizens who share an integral role in the intricate and interconnected web of humanity. 

A Japanoramic View

Japan was one big assault on the senses.

I spent most of my time in Japan in Tokyo.  I had decided that the best approach to traveling was to spend as much time getting comfortable in a single place instead of being somewhere different each day.  I guess you can say that I was getting fatigued by the amount of traveling I’ve done lately, so it was nice to stay put in a single place for a few days.  So instead of making pit stops every day, I decided to go to just one place and stick with it.  Yeah, I’m sure seeing Kobe, Osaka, Kyoto, Nara, Tokyo, and Yokohama would have been great, but that would have been a lot to handle in a short amount of time.

I can proudly say that I am happy about this decision to stay in Tokyo.  The city, to say the least, is incredibly modern with strong roots to an imperial past.  Though in the midst of so much commotion, everything somehow seemed simpler. Well, that’s probably true except for the subway system which could use some edits.  Though I had a Suica card which could be hovered over a scanner at turnstiles in order to get into the system, and for that matter, could also be used to pay for almost anything within the train station such as purchases at convenience stores on the platform, there was no real rhyme or reason to much of the subway.  Don’t even get me started on the horrendous jingles that were blared on the PA system every time an announcement was made.

Clutter and confusion were abound in Tokyo, but it all made sense somehow.  Being a New Yorker, I felt quite at ease, despite the language barrier. All of the lights made me feel at home, and all of the technology at every corner made me forget that I was ever in places where there was no need to ever order noodles (or anything else for that matter) via vending machine.  Even though it was raining for most of the time, and though I still don’t understand the Japanese obsession with clear plastic umbrellas, it was part of the whole experience.  For the most part, I vowed stop trying to understand or analyze too much and just enjoy what was happening.  Plastic replicas of food?  Sure.  Drink machines in every alley way?  Whatevs. Elaborate wardrobe choices?  Fine.  Amazing food at every 7-Eleven?  Delicious.

Tokyo was a city of stark contrasts.  Next to one of the most fashionable and forward places in the world, Harajuku, was the historic Meiji Shrine almost tucked away in an enclave that provided a zen sort of solace that made you forget where you were.  Past the hustle and bustle of one of the largest tourist-trap markets in the Asakusa district was Senso-ji, the oldest Buddhist temple in the entire city.  However, even that distinction is somewhat of a misnomer: the temple was rebuilt after much of it was destroyed during World War II.

This brings up the issue of authenticity in traditional culture.  Of course, there were the incredibly long greetings and thank yous that were expected of any and all social interactions, but to what extent were these actions some kind of front?  Is Senso-ji really the oldest temple if most of what we currently see was built only a few decades ago?  The stalls upon stalls worth of kitschy souvenirs lining the walkway toward the temple doesn’t help its authentic image.  In reality, it seemed almost Disneyland-like, and if I were looking to go to Disneyland, I’d go to the one located not too far away that’s conveniently accessible by metro.  Japan is a country with a culture richer than their ramen broths, but if you said that they were culturally pristine, you’d be lying.

Despite all of the globalization and modernity you could find throughout Japan, the country has stayed relatively insular with it’s own very quirky identity.  It’s ethnic make-up is pretty telling of this; you could easily spot an outsider from a mile away.  But despite the sea of Japanese people, you would find hoards of Starbucks Coffee shops and Italian restaurants.  However, they each had Japanese flair to them that made them distinct. Tokyo, especially, was a postmodernist regurgitation of anything and everything that has ever come into the country but flipped on its head in a way that could have only happened there.  This kind of cultural cannibalism is what made Tokyo so alluring to me because, as much as I thought something was familiar, it wasn’t.  Pizzas with fried eggs on them or tuna crepes are not an every day occurrence... well, unless you’re in Japan.  I can’t really find the words to describe the weirdness that is Tokyo, but I’d rather keep it that way.

Gratitude and the Great LOL of China

It finally hit me that I was in China when I crossed the border out of Hong Kong and entered Shenzhen in order to catch my flight to Beijing.


Shenzhen, the city directly on the other side of Hong Kong that's part of the People's Republic of China, has become an economic powerhouse since the 80s. In just thirty years, Shenzhen grew from just a tiny village to a world-class industrial city which plays an integral role in international trade. It is the epitome of rapid development in China. And it's completely different from Hong Kong.


Going to Hong Kong to Shenzhen was almost like crossing into a different country, probably because that was precisely what was happening (sort of). Like I said earlier, Hong Kong is a Special Administrative Zone of China meaning that it has its own rules and regulations separate than those of the rest of the People's Republic, and for all intents and purposes, is a separate territory. For this reason, flying out of Hong Kong into Beijing is regarded as an international flight. To save some cash, I travelled by subway through Hong Kong to the Chinese border into neighboring Shenzhen for a domestic flight to Beijing.
Upon clearing immigration and customs, my travel partner Tommie and I hitched a ride in a taxi over to the airport. Little did we realize, we had no idea how to say airport in Chinese and our taxi driver has no idea what the word airport meant in English. At this point, we realized that this was going to be an interesting few days.


In all of our previous ports, English was spoken (even in minimal amounts). Even if there was a lot of guessing and gestures involved, the overall gist was communicated. In this case, even stretching out our arms and making engine noises wasn't even cutting it. Eventually, with trust in the gods and a handy guidebook, we ended up at the airport right in the nick of time.


I never imagined that I'd be watching the movie 50/50 on a flight to Beijing, but there I was in Chinese airspace bawling at bald Joseph Gordon Levitt while eating my unidentified plane food (P.S. I recommend the movie very much). Upon finally arriving in Beijing, we booked it straight to the hostel which was a hip, bustling gem full of fellow travelers in the middle of a dark and creepy alley a few minutes away from Tiananmen Square. I grew a greater affinity and respect for hostels during my time in China, and I have no idea why I haven't been trolling HostelWorld.com this whole time.

We had a very brief stay in Beijing; we only had one day to explore the area. Of course, we had to go to the Great Wall of China, and for time and ease sake, we went to Badaling, the closest but most tourist-ridden section of the Wall. While waiting for the bus on a line that winded around for what seemed like a mile (which is not an exaggeration, this is China, after all), we met a duo of students who took us under their wing for the day. With their decent English skills, we were able to communicate, and they helped us to understand and navigate. The Great Wall was stunning, but the experience was diminished by the sheer amount of other visitors on the wall. Of course, we conveniently chose to go on a holiday, so flocks of Chinese tourists were also sight-seeing. There was one point where we were stuck at a portion of the Wall where we were in a traffic jam for about half an hour. Nonetheless, despite the crowds, the awkward slips and falls, and the sad demise of my camera, being on the Great Wall of China is one of those bucket list items that I'm glad to say that I did.

Upon returning to Beijing, I got to walk around the grounds of Tiananmen Square, and other than acknowledging the history of the place, I took some pretty comical photos with the iconic Mao Zedong portrait at the entrance to the Forbidden City.  After the struggle of getting to our new hostel, we realized that we had booked our stay for the wrong night, but there was fortunately still vacancy in a room where we met three young Americans teaching English in nearby Baoding.

After a night of good conversation and a fair amount of sleep, we headed straight for the airport for our next flight to Shanghai.  The reason for our rushed travel was that we wanted to reach Shanghai as early as possible because we had plans to stay in a Buddhist temple in a rural town a few hours away from the city.  Upon arriving to Shanghai, we darted to the bus station only to find out that the earliest we could arrive to the monastery was the next morning.  Unfortunately, we couldn’t contact the temple, and sadly decided that it wouldn’t be smart to go make the trek over there.  I guess something I’ve learned is to be flexible and allow for wiggle room.  You never know what you might encounter.

With more time in Shanghai, I was able to explore another incredibly modern, global city and relax a slight bit from the sporadic traveling of the previous few days.  At this point, all of these cities sort of meld together (and it doesn’t help that the subways look nearly identical).  What struck me most about Shanghai were the skyscrapers and the smog.  The Pearl Tower dominated the skyline which has a small layer of haze which fogged up your view of it.  I guess that’s what happens in one of the most heavily populated places in the world.

To make up for all of the fast-paced city life, I spent my last day trying to seek out some peace and tranquility.  One of those places I visited was the Jade Buddha Temple, a beautiful patch of serenity wedged in between the gigantic buildings.  Just walking the grounds was calming.  I can’t say that I didn’t feel refreshed.  I ended up forking over a few yuan for a bundle of incense sticks used as an offering.  Though I had no idea what exactly should have been doing, I knew that I was supposed to bow three times facing each of the four cardinal directions.  As I did, I meditated briefly and realized how thankful I was to be safe and sound half-way across the world after seeing so much beauty along the way.  It was a pretty uplifting moment.

In all, I was content with my stay in China.  It had its ups and downs, but that’s the case with every port I’ve visited.  In short, I felt a great deal of gratitude.  My trip is coming to an end soon, I know I have to savor every last second of it.

ChinaLite

Hong Kong, a former British colony and now one of two Special Administrative Regions of the People's Republic of China along with the nearby Macau, is an incredible anomaly. In between the glitz of all of the international designer shops (it seemed like every block was Fifth Avenue), you'd find some enclaves of a Chinese identity of yesteryear. Nonetheless, it was an incredibly modern global city full of life and culture.

Since Hong Kong was, like many of the other places we've visited along this journey, a British colony, the more rampant use of English made it a very nice training course for mainland China. Most, if not all people, had a basic understanding of English, and that made it easy to communicate.

Hong Kong reminded me much of Singapore in the sense that it was such a cosmopolitan place with a distinct Asian flair that made it interesting. Both were island city-states.  I regret only spending a little more than a day there because I’m confident that there was so much more to see.  Yes, there was a Body Shop on every block (not even kidding), but there are so many islands to see all chock full of jewels waiting to be discovered. Speaking of jewels, one of the places that I found very interesting was the Jade Market, a small camp of vendors selling a multitude of jade products and other assorted knick-knacks.  It was somewhat like entering a Chinese grandmother’s basement.  While on that note, I also found a small shop of second-hand goods that was actually a Chinese grandmother’s basement full of relics from all around the world that one older woman has accumulated along the years.

I kept catching myself thinking that I was in some kind of Chinatown only to realize that was, indeed, in China.  It took a while to hit me that I was, in fact, on the opposite side of the earth in a place which, since we were children, stood to symbolize exoticism for us in the United States.  No longer was this a recreation; it was the real thing.

Pulling into port in Hong Kong was one of the few times that I decided to wake up at the crack of dawn to see it actually happen.  Though the weather was cold and hazy, you could sill tell that it was marvelous sailing into such a huge city.  You just had so much to look at that you had no idea what to do with yourself.  The best part, though, was seeing a slew of parents waving mercilessly from the dock.  Semester at Sea sets up a Parent Trip where families can join their child through their exploration in China, and a few of my friends’ parents were able to come for the ride.  It would have been great to see my own parents there since I know how much they’ve wanted to visit China.  They’ll get there, I promise.

All in all, Hong Kong didn’t feel too much different than what I’m used to past the fact that everything was is Chinese (along with English).  The beautiful skyline and amazing water views made me feel like I was back in Manhattan.  I even took a ferry across the water between Kowloon and Hong Kong islands which, if I dare say, felt like I was going to Staten Island (except the other side didn’t suck).  But then there were the things that were a little different.  For example, there were multiple levels of walkways; there was the normal street level, but there were often underground walkways as opposed to crosswalks (which were somewhat inconvenient), and there were also networks of bridges and moving sidewalks running along the periphery of buildings that not only linked several buildings together but also transported people above ground.  And of course I made it into the Starbucks where I was happy to fish for grass jelly at the bottom of my Frappuccino.

Altogether, Hong Kong was a very pleasant place, and it was a good starting point for the rest of the week in China.  So much more on that really soon.

Sea-Sickness (Part Three)

If you're following my itinerary, you'd know that I've actually just left Japan, and I'm on my way on the long trek across the Pacific Ocean back to the United States. For all intents and purposes, my international journey is pretty much over, and we only have a few more weeks of finishing up the classes for the semester and preparing for finals. It's pretty sad to think about this all being over, but I'm definitely ready to be back to be back on land and be at home.

On that note, the day after Japan was a nightmare. I was awake for three hours at most because I was bedridden from the rolling waves outside. I'm sure it was a combination of not being forewarned of the tumultuous waves and not being in transit on the ship for more than two days in the past month or so that eventually led to this pretty horrible fate. No vomming this time, which is a plus. However, all my crap is all over my cabin floor, and I was basically rendered unconscious for a large portion of time.

However, after being strongly medicated, I feel just about alright, and I hope that the seas become calm sooner rather than later. I can only hope to make-up all the past entries that I have yet to write (Hong Kong, mainland China, and Japan) before we arrive to Hawaii as well as write/post a few other things (my Global Studies paper and some "in-the-grand-scheme-of-life" type entries) at some point thereafter. In just two and a half weeks, the ship will be docking in San Diego, and it will be home at last for this traveller.

Peace out, cub scouts, and stay tuned for a lot more.

"This Doesn't Suck"

When you think of Vietnam, you probably think of a country ravaged by war. The first thing I think of is refugees. In my neighborhood in the Bronx, there is a huge Vietnamese population living around University Avenue. The Roman Catholic church I used to attend as a kid on the corner of Fordham and University even offered services in Vietnamese. In the late 90s, I remember having some Vietnamese classmates in elementary school, and then an influx of Albanian refugees came in as well and eventually overshadowed that population. Mixed in with the incredibly dense Hispanic population in my neighborhood from places like Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and Mexico, I can only wonder now whether this early exposure to immigrants (including myself), and especially displaced peoples, has influenced my current interest in diasporic movement and refugee health. But that’s a story for another day.

Now when you think of Ho Chi Minh City, you think of a town conquered by the wrath of communism. C’mon, it was renamed after the North’s communist leader. Nothing says conquest more than naming a place after yourself. Just ask Alexander the Great. Pulling into the city via the Saigon River, there was a sense of uncertainty of what I would find once on land. Coming from America, images of poor, suffering, and powerless farmers come to mind; when thinking about the war, my mind conjured up even more somber things. In short, it was an incredibly pleasant surprise. And it doesn’t suck. More on that in a sec.

If you asked me a few years from now what I would remember about my time in Vietnam, I would probably sum it up as thus: it was an incredibly cheap place with delicious food, friendly people, and remarkable history.

The exchange rate for Vietnamese currency to the US Dollar was roughly 20,000 dong to 1, so with 50 bucks, you’d be a millionaire. For this reason, the US Dollar was often preferred by merchants, though I was slightly entertained by the notion of being a multi-millionaire. I was told before getting to Vietnam that you could probably bargain anything down to a dollar, and so I saw the country as one big 99-cent store. Don’t be surprised if all of your souvenirs come from here. Some of the gems I got were a custom made pair of red trousers with a pink-and-purple paisley shirt for $25 and a whole bunch of Tiger Beer tank tops for roughly $2 a pop.

As for food, I ate non-stop. Not only did I eat for incredibly cheap on a small residential corner sitting in children-sized plastic furniture (google “The Lunch Lady”), I ate at some of the most high-class restaurants in the city for not much more. More the most part, I was stuffed with soups filled with unidentifiable parts and whole garden full of herbs. More often than not, my meal was accompanied by a strong cup of Vietnamese iced coffee sweetened with condensed milk.

The people were incredibly sweet. After establishing that I was American (since many would start speaking to me in Vietnamese thinking that I was a local taking my white friends around), I often got an even more excited and warm response. For a reason I still don’t understand, Vietnamese people love Americans. On the first morning, we ran into a group of students in the park who were part of an English language club who wanted us to partake in their language practice. Somehow, we also participated in a video with another handful of students who were doing a school project. Even better, though, was stumbling upon a communist youth rally celebrating the anniversary of the group’s founding. We were pulled into the action as if we knew what was going on, and it may have been one of the most fun things I did while in Saigon.

I can’t forget the ever-important history which has led us to this point. The Vietnam War, otherwise known as the American War, was only a few decades ago, and there is still clear remnants of that conflict. It was not uncommon to see people with missing or deformed limbs rolling around on skateboards. I knew that I had to do some historical trips while in Vietnam, and that urge was fulfilled by a visit to the Cu Chi Tunnels, an elaborate network of underground walkways used during the war. From watching a really interesting documentary film, talking to the tour guide, and crawling through the tiny tunnels, it finally hit me that this war was real, and with any conflict, there are two (or more) equally valid interpretations. Since the country was once under French rule, a legacy of colonization is evident throughout the city either in architecture, language, or a multitude of other things; the bánh mì is a perfect example. The sandwich made of a delicate French baguette is filled with both traditional Vietnamese meats and herbs with a slathering of colonial condiments and flavorings.

My time in Vietnam was chock-full of different experiences. I was able to sail down the Mekong Delta for a tour using five modes of transportation (three different types of boats, horsedrawn buggy, and bicycle) seeing a contrast between a livelihood very dependent on the river and the bustling city life a few miles away. I got a haircut which made me look like Vietnamese superstar. I pushed my way through the narrow walkways of the Ben Thanh Market and watched the night market set up right around it as I ate my dinner. More than once, I went to a bar called ‘Apocalypse Now’ (like the legendary film about the Vietnam War) which was an enclave for prostitutes, ex-pats, and misfits in a slightly awkward space where the fans were made to look like the propellers for helicopters painted on the ceiling.

One of the days in Saigon, my friends and I ran into an older businessman, a hilarious and sassy man from the United States who was in the country for some kind of consulting job. He was sent for six months to do a job that he completed in a few days, so he was just wandering around for the remainder of his stay. Though he had only been there for a few days more than we had, he gave us some very funny insight about Vietnam. First of all, he advised us to explore. If you see something you think is interesting, check it out. It’s a simple concept, but I think that some of us stray away from our instincts to take risks and discover because we are scared of the unknown. Secondly, he took the words out of my mouth as he explained his experience so far. As peculiar as everything may be to us, he summed it up simply and perfectly: “This doesn’t suck.”

On my last day, on the way back to the ship, I decided to take a motorcycle taxi back. For two bucks, I sat on the back of this dude's motorcycle, put on a helmet, and went along for the ride. The motorcycle is the preferred mode of transport for the Vietnamese; a family of four (+cargo) on a single bike was not a peculiar sight. As we rolled along through the streets of Saigon under the glorious sunset, I realized that this was the way most people saw this city. Dodging pedestrians, with the constant whirring of the engine, there was a kind of solace that I found while on the back of the motorbike. It was a perfect ending.

To say the least, Vietnam was interesting. It was invigorating. It was inspirational. And, indeed, it didn’t suck.

brb.

For anyone actually reading my blog, I'm sorry for not being able to update it recently. All of these ports in Asia are incredibly close to each other, so I don't have much time between them to relax, reflect, and write. Of course, Ho Chi Minh City was magnificent, and it exceeded all expectations. Hong Kong was a blast, and my short stay in Beijing was incredible. And now I'm in Shanghai, and it's pretty darn cray-cray. Clearly, all of these generic adjectives are not very descriptive, and there's so much more than what I'm saying here, and I really hope to have enough time soon to truly think about everything I've done. From sailing down the Mekong Delta, crawling through underground tunnels during the Vietnam War, and getting a custom made 70s gay porn star outfit to serious language barriers, busting my butt while climbing the Great Wall, and amazing hostel stays. From eating unknown foods on a residential street corner, being mistaken as a local, and running into a communist youth rally to using internet proxies to get on Facebook, mastering three major subway systems, and watching 50/50 on my flight to Beijing. There are so many stories, and I can't wait to tell them.

Stay tuned!

Everything's Gonna Be OK

Once again, another interport lecturer has come on board the MV Explorer and piqued my interest.  This time around, joining us between the very short stretch between Singapore and Vietnam is Ben Justus, a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Management and alum of the Semester at Sea Spring 2007 voyage.  Justus is the founder of the EGBOK Mission, a non-profit NGO in Cambodia which empowers young people to become part of that country's quickly growing hospitality industry through rigorous training and job placement.  This is especially relevant because in post-genocide/post-war Cambodia, over half of the country's population is under the age of 25, and tourism to the country is increasing at an alarmingly rapid rate.  Much of the hospitality industry in Cambodia is run and staffed by migrant workers from other countries, many of whom hail from Southeast Asian countries including Vietnam, Thailand, and the Philippines.  Through EGBOK, an antonym for "Everything's Gonna Be OK," the organization is hoping to change the face of an entire industry in Cambodia while providing autonomy and independence to a young, empowered work force.

The young organization is run by young people for young people.  Ben himself is only 26 years old, and Egbok's students are between the ages of 16 and 24.  These students come from eight feeder community institutions throughout the Phnom Penh and Siem Riep areas where introductory hospitality courses are taught.  A selected cohort of these students are then chosen to participate in a year-long vocational training program with hospitality experts from around the world.  Egbok has only been in existence for three years, and it has only had a single graduating class, but of those students, all were able to find jobs within a month of completing the curriculum.  These jobs include working in hotels and restaurants as cooks and receptionists and everything in between.  In these jobs, students are expected to earn roughly six times as much as an entire household would earn in a year.  The program is hoping to expand throughout the country and, one day, to other countries, as well.  There are also plans in the works to establish a training restaurant in Chicago, and its profits would help sustain the project in Cambodia.

I ended up spending my first day in Ho Chi Minh City with Somiol and Nita, the two interport students who are currently enrolled at Egbok Mission, and eventually met up with Ben later in the evening.  It was such a chill day.  More often referred to as Saigon, the city is a quickly developing enclave much different, yet seemingly familiar, to any place I've seen.  To put it simply, it has an exotic but comfortable charm.  Perhaps it's because I have become so well travelled, but I think that there is a certain laid-back ease in Saigon, and that's something I can't quite say of many of the other places I've visited throughout this trip.  More about that in a later blog post.

Nonetheless, I had a wonderful time.  We did nothing out of the ordinary; basically, it was the typical "first day at port" cavorting which includes a stop at the market, a lot of aimless walking, and eating interesting food until the point of exhaustion.  However, for whatever reason, the experience was heightened by being in the amazing company of Ben, Somiol, and Nita.  We were all curious about Vietnam and about each other, and that all comes together to make a pretty darn exciting day.  The connections around the world that I'm making just continue to astound me.  Never would I have thought that I would be eating pho in the middle of Ho Chi Minh City with two kids from Cambodia and a random dude from California who just happened to have a good idea one day that eventually brought us all together.

For more information on Egbok, visit www.EGBOKmission.org.  And stay tuned for some amazing stories about (and pictures of) Viet Nam!