Happy Halloween!

This has been one of our longest stretches at sea yet, and it has gone by so quickly. This week has almost reminded me of my life back in LA – busy. It also made me miss LA a little bit, but I’ll get to that later. The first day back on ship, I received an invitation to the Captain’s Dinner, which is exactly what I needed after gorging for five days on Indian food (this trip really is not for dieters!) But the Captain’s Dinner was amazing – fabulous food, unlimited glasses of wine, crème brulee… and I got to sit right next to the captain! I must admit I was a little intimidated at first, but I quickly turned on my own charm, and had a wonderful time chatting up the Master of the Ship. In between asking him if we could throw a wakeboard behind the ship (seriously), turn up the speed to 30 knots, or filling him in on the latest rumors about us not going to Turkey, I learned that he has a wife and two daughters back in Croatia, that he’s a big fan of James Bond movies, and that while all his brothers and uncles dreamed of becoming doctors when they grew up, he always knew he wanted to be the Captain of a ship. I cannot imagine a life in which you are separated from your family for nearly six months at a time in some cases; I just found out that my cabin steward, Allan from the Philippines has a seven month old baby at home, and when he last saw her she was only three months! It reminds me a little of military families and I feel for the wives and children at home as well as for the fathers who miss their families. But, perhaps this works out well for them… I’m not sure.

The next day brought a huge event for the shipboard community, an entire day free of classes, devoted to the Sea Olympics. From 10am until almost midnight, our “seas” competed in everything from egg toss, tug of war and volleyball, to hot dog eating, hairstyling and pure unadulterated talent (or in many cases lack thereof). :) I was really impressed with some of the talents. There was a freestyle rapping contest, where two girls went up against a rather intimidating lineup of guys – and held their own – and in the end a white suburban kid from Massachusetts blew everyone away with his lightening fast rhyming skills and unique rapping style. It was a little like “8 mile”, and I won’t lie, I’d , buy tickets to this guy’s show. My sea started off a little sluggish (I don’t think the judges appreciated our hip/hop theme or even knew the origin of our song – the students thought it was great), but we came back with wins in several team events and a great talent show, and climbed our way into the top three. I was proud of the Med Sea, and it was a fun, but very exhausting day.

Speaking of talent, we were entertained yet again this week by the Crew Talent Show, followed by Crew Appreciation Day. The crew on this ship is a great group of men and women from around the world (mostly the Philippines, but also the Caribbean, India, South America, Eastern and Western Europe, and even Canada). The crew talent show was an opportunity for us to see their individual talents shine, and to see them as people with lives beyond the ship, with great fun and outgoing personalities. I think a lot of the girls also saw many of them as hot young hip-hop dancers… but thank goodness for the no-fraternization-with-crew policy, or things might get a little dicey on the ship. J All-in-all, the crew talent show was a fundraiser for the crew, in which we raised nearly $8,000 to go towards their facilities, crew tours in the ports, and the social welfare of our crew. The next day we peppered the halls with thank you signs and banners, cleaned our own rooms, bussed our own tables and generally tried to do our part to thank them for the amazing work they do on this ship. They really do spoil us, here, and in many ways, we probably don’t deserve it.

The rest of this week for me has involved a lot of meetings and organizational planning for the Ambassadors Ball, another charity fundraiser that my committee is planning at the end of the voyage. And somehow when I haven’t been frantically throwing together these meetings, trying to figure out what I’m going to do in Egypt, spending a couple of hours each night chaperoning the “AFTer hours parties, and meeting individually with homesick students, or motivated student group leaders planning additional shipboard activities, I managed to organize a fun UCLA dinner, bringing together the other eight bruins here, and am hosting a Chico State dinner tonight, with the two professors and other two students here representing Chico and the Wildcats. Oh, and last night was our Halloween Dance Party (I went as Pocahontas), our Cultural Pre-port for Egypt, and tonight we have the Logistics Pre-port. Whew! I am sure I have left out a lot. It has been a busy but mostly fun week. I definitely thought of LA quite a bit during the UCLA dinner and missed my friends back in LA. Tonight, I am sure I will be reminiscing a lot about Chico, which makes me miss my family and friends back there. But, every now and then, I try to take a few moments away from the busy schedule and just try to catch the beautiful sunset on the ocean, or the breeze from the bow of the ship, and remind myself how lucky I am to be traveling around the world, and have the opportunity to meet people of unique cultures, see amazing sights, and live in a community where so much growth is possible. Tonight, we arrive in Egypt! I am so excited. It was one the ports I was the most looking forward to reaching. Egypt?!? I still can’t believe I am almost there…. Like all other ports, we only have a few days in this country. I cannot wait to see what this new journey will bring.

India - Hate it or love it?

They say you either love or hate India. Either way, you will have strong feelings - there is no middle of the road. My colleague Jayshree back in Los Angeles , who grew up in India told me to “brace myself for the sights, smells, and sounds of India, as they can be very intense”. Everyone I spoke with seemed to prepare me for the worst. Don’t drink the water, watch what you eat – you will get sick, and don’t swim in the ocean or walk on the sand, it’s dirty. Wear closed toe shoes, take your malaria medication, use bottled water to brush your teeth, and beware of pickpocketers, con artists, and people begging for money. I had envisioned a filthy, foul smelling, chaotic, seedy society; what then was there to love?

My first day in Chennai, several students and I had decided to go shopping for decorations for the Ambassador’s Ball, that we had recently themed “A night in Bollywood”. Seven of us headed out to the streets to take taxis in to one of the local markets. Immediately we were met with no less than forty rickshaw drivers calling out to us for rides into the city. Since the rickshaws only carry two to three people each, we had to split up into three of them, assuming we were all going to the same place, and would meet as soon as each arrived. In Los Angeles, for example, seven people could split up into three cabs leaving Beverly Hills and end up at Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica at almost precisely the same time, give or take a few minutes for traffic. Chennai, however, is not Los Angeles, and India is certainly not the U.S. We split up into the three separate cabs, and did not see eachother for the rest of the day. Rather than taking us where we wanted to go, the rickshaw drivers took each of us on a crazy tour of the city, complete with several stops at very expensive boutiques, when we were certain we had asked to take us all to a street market area called Pondy Bazaar. Eventually, Justin and I did make it there, only several hours later, after switching rickshaw drivers, arguing about the high-priced fare, and taking a long break from the chaos to enjoy a rather amusing first dining experience in India.

When we walked into the restaurant, we quickly noticed how crowded it was, and the fact that no other foreigners were around. Waiting list of all locals. This is a good sign. At least those crazy rickshaw drivers/con artists had brought us to a decent place. We arrived at our table and were presented with large circular platters, each dressed with a large banana leaf, that covered the plate. Not surprisingly, there were no napkins and no silverware in sight. After Vietnam and Myanmar we quite expected this and were prepared to eat with our hands and use the tissues and little bottles of hand sanitizers we tried to remember to bring with us everywhere we go. When the waiter offered us water, we politely declined, choosing instead to go with bottled soda, and no ice. Drinking a warm fanta orange was somewhat less than refreshing, but we had been warned about “Dehli Belly” and were careful not to ingest water in any form. Justin and I are both pretty adventurous with food so we decided to order a couple of things and share. I looked at the menu, and pointed to a vegetarian dish that I wanted to order. The waiter looked at me, smiled and shook his head. Hmm. Ok, I thought. Well, what about this, I said, and pointed to a second dish of prawns in a spicy sauce. He looked up at me again, smiled and shook his head. Confused I looked at Justin, who also confused, pointed to a dish of chicken masala on the menu, and again, the waiter smiled and shook his head, while continuing to write something down. Aha! I thought, and at the same time Justin realized it too. Indians have this interesting little head nodding/wagging type gesture which looks like the way we Americans shake our heads when meaning to say no, but in fact they are saying, ok, or that’s fine. It’s kind of a wobble. We practiced it a lot after that. And got plenty of laughs. The food at this place was wonderful, too. It was incredibly spicy, and we ate indeed with our hands, but being the well prepared little travelers that we were, we popped our pepto before every meal, and our bellies were just fine.

The second day, I rounded up a group of students and a few staff as we went to meet our host families that we’d be staying with for the rest of the time in India. I was really excited to meet my family, have a nice place to stay, and not have to worry about crazy rickshaw drivers. Have I mentioned the traffic situation in India? If you remember that Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam was like playing tackle football with no helmet, no pads and no rules, then picture Chennai, India as a game of dodgeball, with thousands of people in a very small space, where not just one, but every person has a ball, there are absolutely no boundaries, and people are coming at you from every direction. And they have horns. Do not forget the horns. The streets of Chennai made the traffic in Ho Chi Minh City look like a polite game of chess. It’s either a sport or a nightmare (which incidentally is how I view dodgeball, but I digress to bad childhood memories of that game). Anyway, traffic is complete chaos and whether I was in a rickshaw, on a bus or even with my host family, I feared for my life and saw it flash before me a myriad of times.

The family was really cool, though. I stayed with my friend and fellow RD, Gail, and our adopted little brother Mike, who we later called Kumar (he was given an Indian name by our host family, after donning the traditional Indian dress to wear to a party the second night). Our host Auntie, Usha and our host “father” Krishnan have hosted many past SAS students and were really excited to meet us too. This homestay was sponsored by the Rotary Chapter of Chennai, and about 30 SAS participants were divided up into various homes of Rotary club members and their families. Like most Indian families, Krishnan, a single guy about 40 years old, lives with his parents, and one of his aunts, Usha, who became like our mom. The parents are quite elderly and speak only Tamil (the most indigenous language of the region in Chennai), so it was difficult if not impossible to speak with them. They also had a couple of women who worked, cooking and cleaning in their home, but who lived in a tiny home in the back with their grown children and young grandchildren. This was my first exposure to the caste system, and one I am still trying to process and understand. Krishnan is a day trader in the Indian stock market and Usha is a pre-school teacher. The home is fairly good sized, though, by American standards quite modest, and I am guessing they are average to middle class, in this part of India. When you take into account that we saw many people living on the streets, and others living in large sprawling plantation homes, I’d say they fall somewhere in the middle.

The experience I had in India was not like any of the other places we have visited so far. Staying with a family meant being fed at least six times a day, being driven around to do shopping, go sightseeing and being a guest in a “typical” Indian home. Prior to this visit, I’d mostly been on independent trips, finding our own hotels, getting lost in the cities, taking trains, ferries and buses to unknown places and walking around with backpacks full of gear to last the whole trip. This was in some ways good and in some ways a bit restrictive, but it was an experience that I am grateful to have had.

Krishnan and Usha were great. They really gave up their time and other interests to welcome us into their home and their lives. They took us to a shop to buy saris, helped us bargain for better prices, and took us to a salon for the entire next day so we could get henna tattoos, get our hair done, and get our saris tied on for the party that night. We spent all day in the salon, and the whole thing cost less than $20. They even dropped off food for us (samosas, yum), because God forbid we would miss a meal. I cannot emphasize enough how much food we were presented with; it was literally making me sick, not for the quality, but rather the shear amount and frequency of it all.

The party at the Rotary Club meeting was one of several highlights for me. After spending the day at the salon, and getting all dressed up in our Saris, I felt like an absolute princess. We arrived a bit late to the meeting, and certainly made an entrance when we walked in with Kumar in his long white gown, Gail with her royal purple sari, and me with a shimmering pink silk sari and braided French twist, and our henna tattoos from wrist to fingertips, front and back. We got a lot of compliments that night, and really felt what it’s like to dress in traditional Indian attire. Plus, it was a rotary function, which meant I got to meet a lot of really interesting, socially involved, civically minded people who share a lot of interests that I have both back at home and here abroad. I am really looking forward to keeping in touch with them, and in sharing this experience with my Rotary chapter back in LA. Oh yeah, and there was also a very handsome, younger Rotarian who rather captured my attention, and who invited me and my housemates to play cards the next two nights… that was another highlight for sure. Spending time with people my age, with rather similar lifestyles and interests (and who play house games of poker!) was a very good time indeed. The only thing that troubled me about that experience was that on the second night I noticed as we were walking up the steps to the home of our card game hosts that night, a woman was sleeping on the floor just outside their covered door. It struck me as rather sad that while we were all sipping cocktails, playing cards and tossing rupees onto the table, this poor woman was outside sleeping on the floor that she very likely scrubbed on her hands and knees that same day. Again, the system of the caste is a tough one for me to comprehend. In a country that claims to be the largest democracy in the world can such overt division of class, discrimination, and lack of opportunity for so many, really exist? I struggle with this.

So, did I love India? Did I hate it? I loved riding a horse on the beach in Mamallapuram, visiting the intricately built temples, and seeing women in saris walking down the streets. I loved the energy and the community of the women in the salon, dressing up in saris and practicing Tamil with local people who chuckled or smiled when I said Nandri (thank you). I enjoyed the amazing hospitality and warm treatment we received from our host family, the Rotary club members, and my new friends who welcomed me immediately into their circle. I loved the bright vibrant colors, the mix of modern and classical music, the diversity of religions and cultures, meeting so many differnt types of people, and playing with the grandchildren of one of Krishnan and Usha’s staff (we weren’t allowed to call her by name). I hated that such division and distinction exists between the castes, that rickshaw drivers and street peddlers pounced on us everywhere we went. I loved the intense flavors of the food, even though I now do in fact have a stomach ache. I hated being fed six times a day, especially when so many people there have no food at all. I really hated the overuse of horns and the chaotic driving in the streets (in my assessment, the typical Indian driver blasts his horn no less than three times per minute of driving), and I could have lived much happier without breathing in so much dirt and pollution. But India was also a place where I made new friends, became interested and involved in the social activities of people, read the newspaper and learned a lot about education, politics and culture. It was my home for just a few short days, and I am convinced that I did not have nearly enough time to experience the real India. Someday I’d like to go back, and do more, see more of this country, take more risks, travel outside of just one region. Will I get the chance? I don’t know. Will it be the first place I choose to return? I’m not sure. I understand why they say there is no middle of the road. The middle of the road, literally, in India is the toughest and most dangerous place to be. It’s just at this point, I can’t decide.

Med Sea - Classy or Trashy?

Every “sea” of students on the ship has one night during the voyage where they get to party it up in the faculty staff lounge. We’re talkin’ karaoke, beer and wine, music, dancing, and best of all, they get to hang out in the oh so coveted lounge where typically prohibited students peer in through the windows at staff and faculty sipping cocktails and unwinding from the day. Last night was my “Sea Social” and we got off to a great start when my sea decided our theme would be “Classy or Trashy”. I was classy of course; did you really have to ask? Last night was a blast. Have I mentioned how much I looove my sea? (I actually miss them sometimes when I am away from them in port). I must have a lot of fraternity and sorority girls or something, because these people really know how to throw theme parties. Hopefully I can upload some of the photos. I can’t wait to share them all with you. We had guys with mullets, short cut-off shorts, half-shirts, trucker hats, girls with red pumps, pregnant bellies drinkin’ beer, and we actually had two girls come in dresses made of trash bags! They looked amazing! Then we had the very fashionable tall dark and handsome guys dressed in pin striped three-piece suits with dark shades, and ladies in elegant new dresses, high heeled shoes and pearl necklaces. And who could forget, Evan who came dressed in drag! Everyone got into the spirit and they looked fabulous! We even got a card the next day from one of the senior adult passengers who said she had the best time ever at our social. One of the great things about the sea socials being held up in the F&S Lounge is that faculty, staff and senior passengers are invited and have a chance to hang out with the students, if they wish. Everyone really seemed to rally around the theme, and my sea has so much spirit – we had a great time! I’m thinking I need to do more theme parties back at home. Classy or Trashy at the UCLA Career Center? Ha! Just kidding, Al. Maybe at USC…. Lol. J

So, these are some of the fun things I get to do on the ship. A lot of the time, we’re in meetings, or forming committees, or talking about conduct violations, or chaperoning the pub nights, and I can sometimes get stressed out or frustrated. But then I get to do things like have a party with my sea, strategize with them for the Sea Olympics (I am doing a swimming event, lol), or simply hang out with my students and get to know them a little better. I’ve really got a wonderful group of students in my sea, and great committees for Ambassadors Ball and Ambassadors of Goodwill. So, even though it can be a lot of work, I get to meet a lot of really amazing people. That’s one of the coolest parts of taking this journey with so many other people. In my ideal world, I don’t prefer to travel in large groups with a set itinerary, and very little time in each place. But, since I cannot have my closest friends or family members on this journey, it’s comforting to know I am traveling with some really great students, staff, faculty, kids and adult passengers on board. It also helps during those times when I really miss people back home.

Tomorrow we arrive in India. I have heard a lot about this place and I am really excited to see this country for myself. I will actually be staying with a family through the local Rotary chapter, and I am ecstatic for this. Will this place with almost one billion people be chaotic, noisy and crowded? Will the countryside be lush and green as it was in Vietnam and Myanmar? Will the people be as friendly? Will I like the food? Should I drink the water? As my colleague Jordan back at UCLA says, “more will be revealed”.

Myanmar (aka Burma)

How many of you have heard of Myanmar? Could you place it on a map? Do you know its people? When I saw the itinerary for Semester at Sea, I am fairly embarrassed to say I’d never heard of Myanmar, except of course when I read the blog of my friend and former RD, Yas Djadali, who sailed last year. Have you heard of Burma (this is the former name of the country of Myanmar)? Perhaps you have met a Burmese person, or maybe you’ve eaten Burmese food? It is doubtful. Most Burmese people have never left their country, and very few have ever traveled to the U.S. for sure. The U.S. discourages tourism to this country, and bans Americans from purchasing their goods. We are part of a larger network of democratic nations who do not wish to support an oppressive government run by a military regime that prevents it’s people from speaking out against the government and from democratically electing it’s officials. Knowing this, many of the staff and students aboard this ship questioned and wondered why we were going to visit such a place, that even our government does not wish for us to patronize. There are two schools of thought on this issue. One is that of the US government (for one) and the former leader of the National League for Democracy, a nobel peace prize winner, Aung San Suu Kyi, have called for a withdrawal of support to this country and ultimately it’s government (the government controls the economy and the people), or the opposing side which says to encourage tourism so that foreigners will get to know the people of Myanmar and bring their support, in order to strengthen the economy, the education and ultimately the plight of the currently oppressed population. It is certainly a complex debate.

After visiting Myanmar, I’m still not sure where I stand on this issue. My hope would be that eventually democracy will prevail and the people will regain their rights. My fear is that the people will attempt to rise against the government as they did back in 1988, and the regime will kill or imprison them. It is something you cannot help to think about while traveling in Myanmar.

When we arrived in Myanmar, the first thing I noticed was the lush green countryside, the old wooden canoes and modest wooden shacks near the coastline. Myanmar is bordered by Thailand on the east, and shares much of its climate and geography, though it is much less modern. Docked in a port that was one hour away from Yangon (the largest city in Myanmar) we shuttled into the city, passing through many rural villages where cows and families of goats walked the streets and villagers picked and sold fruit from the sides. Bouncing over potholes, and patches of dirt roads, passing horse drawn carts, trishaws and old rusty bicycles, I immediately felt as if I was in an entirely different world. It was like going back in time.

We were told not to drink the water, be careful with food sold on the streets, stay away from fruit and ice cream, and that women typically did not travel alone (not because it is unsafe but because it is viewed as a bit strange). By the end of my five day visit, I had broken each of these rules. Is anyone surprised? My first day in Yangon, I was to meet up with a couple of friends at a guesthouse we had reserved outside of the downtown area. Because I was separated from the group, I was forced to travel alone, and found it to be quite easy and that the people were very eager to help me find my way. People did stare at me certainly, very few foreigners ever travel here, so for many of them it is the first time they have ever seen a westerner. I found that I actually enjoyed times when I was alone walking through the markets or the streets, and the religious sites, because I was far more aware of how the people were perceiving me, and was less concerned with what my friends wanted to do, or what our travel objectives were for that day. It is a very strange feeling to have so many eyes on you, watching your every move. Whereas the Japanese people certainly noticed us but did not stare, the Burmese people openly watched and observed us, and the children practically ran to our sides to say hello. They were friendly and welcoming, and really seemed to appreciate having us there.

The best meals that I ate were purchased on the streets or were provided out of shacks in small villages cooked over an open fire. When my friend Gail and I took a public fairy across the Yangon River to a tiny village called Dalla, we, as the only foreigners had to pay a fee of one US dollar to cross the way. We presented the dollar bills to a manager who inspected the bills very carefully. Foreign currency is not common here. Upon reaching the village we were bombarded with trishaw drivers who wished to give us a tour or take us into town. We politely refused as we wanted to walk through the village instead. In fact, the previous day we had taken a horse cart in another small village, but this particular day we wanted to take the road less traveled, so to speak.

What a brilliant surprise we found! Upon turning down a small dirt road, we met a few children and an elderly Burmese gentleman who greeted us and asked us if we were on our way to the church. We asked if we might be able to come, and they led us to a tiny very modest church in a yard teeming with children. We were told that this was a church camp for children, but this week it was for the non-Christians. Most of Myanmar is actually Buddhist and Christianity is only a very small percentage of the population, but the church provides a camp where children can come and play, while their parents work. As soon as Gail and I walked in the gates we were met by children running towards us or wishing to shake our hands, say hello, invite us to play with them. They were so fascinated by us – it was peculiar for me – I felt like a politician or perhaps a celebrity shaking hands and kissing babies. But it was the most enjoyable experience just playing with the kids and talking to the elders. Some traditions cross all cultures, and they immediately inquired whether we had eaten. Already I had eaten from the streets and markets and so far had not fallen ill. Here, we certainly couldn’t refuse the food from our hosts, it would be seen as rude. Besides, we were hungry and running low on kyat (the local currency) so we accepted the offer, and were provided with plates full of rice and a a green curry with chicken that was cooked in a shed over an open fire. Burmese people eat with their hands but they gave us spoons, which we quickly abandoned realizing how difficult it is to eat chicken on the bone with a spoon! And the food was quite simple, but great. Chicken is quite expensive for the local people so this was considered a real treat. Again, it was a bit off to have people watch us eat; I think they were fascinated with our strange manners, and the faster pace with which American people tend to eat.

I had a number of great experiences in Myanmar, but I think my visits to the villages were my most treasured. I so enjoyed meeting the people and experiencing just a bit of their lives. On the last night, we went to a dinner and cultural show, where we were entertained by traditional dance music and performances. We even got to dance with the performers and participate in a mock performance of the water festival. At this dinner, I drank water, ate ice cream, ate fruit for the fifth consecutive day and did not suffer any consequences. But more than that, as I danced with Burmese women, I reflected on the images of children and families in the villages, of the people in the streets who sold us their food and goods, of their smiles and of their sorrows. I thought about the man with a legal education, who could not practice politics for fear of imprisonment by his government. I thought of the young man who became our tour guide in a small village where he worked as a teacher for about $12 a month, and could not even afford the lunch that we bought that day for less than $2 each. I thought about how these people had affected me and how we might be able to affect them. I am still unsure of how or whether we really can make an impact on them. But I am curious to find out more. And I have no mixed feelings on whether we should or should not have visited Myanmar. I am blessed for having this experience, and the smiles on the faces of the people I met (Burmese monks, tour guides, church ministers, guesthouse owners, restaurant workers) assured me that they were just as pleased to have us there.

A strange thing...

A strange thing happened while I was in port. Because I didn’t have any overnight trips planned, I ended up spending most of my time in or near the port city, which meant I slept on the ship every night. This is not ideal since I really wanted to experience other parts of Vietnam. But there was much to do in Saigon, so it was ok. The strange thing was that I could scarcely ever sleep. I’d come back to the ship anywhere between 10pm and 2am, and had the most difficult time falling and staying asleep. I’d wake up tossing and turning, cursing my stiff, uncomfortable bed. Early this morning, when we began to sail again, I realized why. The ship in the harbor doesn’t rock. I’ve become accustomed to the rocking motion of the ship, and now I can’t seem to sleep without it!

It’s amazing; first I couldn’t sleep because of the rocking, and now I can’t sleep without it. I wonder what other interesting habits I have adopted. Certainly I will not miss the food! It has gotten really bad on the ship. I heard that it gets progressively worse throughout the voyage. I’m not exactly sure why. But thank God we have so many days in port to eat great food! I will miss the pho and spring rolls from Vietnam, the dim sum from Hong Kong and all the little surprises from Japan. But lately I miss my friends. It is wonderful to experience all of these great countries and unique cultures, but it’s something I wish I could share with family and friends. In Vietnam, a lot of the students had their parents come out and visit, on a trip arranged by SAS. I wish I had thought to invite my parents. That would have been great. Though, I’m not sure how my Dad would have felt about coming back to Vietnam… I will definitely think of them in Spain, and would have loved for them to meet me in one of the ports. Hopefully, Frances can come to Turkey or Croatia, and I can’t wait to see Melissa (my dutch sister!) and Manuel (my best guy friend in Barcelona). Spain is going to be bittersweet, I think, because it’s our last port, and one I am very much looking forward to, but one that I definitely will not want to leave. Of course, I haven’t really wanted to leave any of these ports. There simply is not enough time to see and do all that I would like in each of these places. Just when I've begun to fall in love with each of these ports, we have to leave. In Spain, though, it’s almost like going home. I already have missed the city of Barcelona, my friends there, and can’t wait to have just a few days with them. I’ve definitely made a couple of good friends here, and I feel lucky to have them. But, I still miss my friends back home and think of them often.

Since our schedule is all out of whack, I’m glad I don’t really know when it’s Thursday, and Lorrie and Ryan are watching Grey’s without me. I’m so looking forward to watching the entire season when I get home! Did I mention we don’t have television?? And almost all the programming on the tv’s are boring documentaries. Fortunately, there were hundreds of thousands of DVD’s in Vietnam, so I picked up several movies I haven’t yet seen and the first season of the L word, to keep me entertained. I’m still in search of a good book, which I thought would be fairly easy to find on this academic ship. Most of the time, though, I am reading guide books for the next port. :) I miss talking to my parents, my sister and Kat. Oh, and I actually thought about work at UCLA several times this past week! Must be because the Fall quarter just started, and I wondered how my colleagues are doing, how excited the students must be to be coming back, and how the new peer mentor program is taking off. There are a few UCLA students here, so they remind me of my life back home. Here’s another strange thing. I miss the air back home. Most people would question how I could miss LA air. But being in Vietnam, where the humidity is stifling, and you can barely walk a few blocks without breaking a sweat, I missed the cool mornings and ocean breezes on the coast in Santa Monica. But even though I miss all these things, I know I am going to miss the ship, my friends here, the people I’ve met in other countries, and the sights and sounds I’ve had the fortune to experience. I feel like this voyage is going by really fast right now, and though I am looking forward to reuniting with family and friends in December, I am also afraid it’s going to be over before I know it! There still is so much more to see. Myanmar next, then India and Egypt. I'm so excited! Still can't believe this is actually happening.... :)

Farewell Saigon

Before coming to Vietnam, I had very mixed feelings about whether I would like it here or not, or how the visit might impact me. Like many of the ports we’re visiting, I never would have chosen Vietnam as one of my top spots for a relaxing or exciting vacation. Whenever I heard the word “Vietnam”, I couldn’t help but think of the war. My father served in the Vietnam war many years ago, prior to meeting my mother, settling down and having a family. Growing up we didn’t talk about the war much, although my sister was and still is an avid war-movie addict, and we saw quite a few of the films. I always thought of Vietnam as that place where this terrible war happened. I had been to a few of the memorials in the U.S. and always felt so sad when I thought of how many lives were lost senselessly in that war, and how my father himself risked his life and lost some of his friends. So, when our ship sailed slowly up through the lush green canals into the harbor, I wasn’t surprised to be struck with a heavy feeling in my heart.

The first day, I was scheduled to lead a trip to a former war photographer’s home and to the War Remnants Museum immediately following. I just felt like this was something I had to do, though I was somewhat apprehensive how the Vietnamese people might view Americans, especially given what is going on right now. But, when we met Mr. Cuong, he was such a welcoming and sweet man, who simply wants people to know about and remember the war, so that nothing of that sort should happen again. Once inside his home, we were able to view a gallery of his photos, and ask him questions about their content and meaning. Upon seeing the first photo of a US soldier, I couldn’t help it. I saw my father’s face on that young soldier (younger than most of the students who are traveling with us) and I began to cry. I saw photos of young mothers carrying their children in front of military tanks, away from wreckage, and photos of young Vietnamese boys crying beside their fathers’ graves. Looking at Mr. Cuong, you could see that even though the war ended over 31 years ago (in April of 1975, the month and year that I was born), the sentiment, the sadness and the emotion were still there. The trip to the museum also brought up many uncomfortable feelings. The photos were just too telling; they were too real. So many lives lost, families torn apart. I thought of how my grandparents must have felt when their son was sent here. I thought of the families all over the world who have been touched by war (both past and present). About half way through, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t understand why there has to be war.

In the streets of Ho Chi Minh City, the children waved to us, and smiled. Young women in traditional Vietnamese gowns held out their hands, offering brochures for spas or restaurants, with prices listed both in US dollars and Vietnamese dong. We were welcomed here. Yes, of course, they wanted us to spend money, a ship full of American university students with plenty of US dollars to spare. But they were kind to us. The young cannot recall the war because they weren’t here, or were too young to remember, but the older people, who were here, seemed just as pleased to see us here. It is not the same time. I wish it was that simple. I wish that conflicts from the past could be resolved and wars would not be sparked based on things that happened decades or even hundreds of years ago. But these thoughts are meant for another discussion.

Ho Chi Minh City is like nowhere I’ve ever been. After visiting Japan and Hong Kong, where most everything was quite familiar and rather similar to the US, I now felt that I was not only in a different country but almost in a different world. HCMC is a city of nearly 6 million people, and 4 million motorbikes! Driving in this city is like playing tackle football with no helmets, no pads, and no rules. And crossing the street as a pedestrian is practically a death wish. There are no signals, few crosswalks, and everyone seems to be traveling in opposite directions. It’s complete chaos, and yet somehow it’s efficient. Little old ladies, mothers with children, and young men with their girlfriends on the back each crowd the streets buzzing and honking on these little mopeds. And they all manage to get to and from work, school, shopping, errands, and of course, dates. On Saturday night, we even saw all the couples lined up with their bikes at the central park in the city. It was like something out of a 1950’s or 60’s movie, and surprisingly quite romantic. About the only cars you see are taxi cabs. Motorbikes are far less expensive (about $300US) and they do appear to be the fastest way to get around.

The first night we headed out on the town to a great Vietnamese dinner (lots of spring rolls, lots of shrimp and pork, and perhaps a bit too much wine). It was great. The next day was definitely the best day I had there. I led another SAS trip, which was a service visit to a Deaf School and visit to the Zoo. 23 of us got on a bus, went to this school, and instantly fell in love. These children were so amazing. I think we all wondered how were going to communicate with children who not only cannot hear or speak, but also know a different language. But the kids were really smart and well prepared, with little books containing translated words they could point to, and expressions that spoke louder than any words ever could. We were each paired up with a child, and in no time I was having an entire conversation with my little girl, about her family, her home, school, hobbies and interests (all with gestures, body language, facial expressions and pictures – the bit of American sign language I do know was useless, they speak an entirely different language!) The children danced for us (even though they couldn’t hear the music), they drew pictures, and played games with us, and I have to say that I honestly don’t know who benefited more from the visit, us or them? I know that I didn’t want my child to leave. And I wanted to stay. I’m going to miss her. By now, I was really beginning to love Vietnam.

The next couple of days were spent exploring the city, eating tons of Pho (this amazing beef and noodle soup) and shopping way too much (everything is really cheap here, if you know how to bargain – again a sport/national pastime for tourists in HCMC). We also took a day trip out of the city to the Mekong Delta, which is a major fishing and agricultural area, where much of the local food is grown. It was nice to get away from all the honking and speeding motorbikes and relax in narrow canoes floating down the peaceful river. The last day I saved for a little last minute shopping and some relaxation. You can get a massage in HCMC for as little as $5!! I got a manicure and pedicure for $6. Unbelievable! Something that struck me the entire time I was in Vietnam is how strenuously the women here work. Most of the vendors on the streets are women, and they really work you to get you to buy their food, books, clothing, jewelry, DVD’s, etc. I went out to buy one pair of jeans and walked away with three! That woman worked me! (I got a little better at bargaining after that). It’s so hard to talk someone down from an already low price, especially compared to American standards. Out on the Mekong river, our canoes full of heavy American and Australian tourists were powered by the strong paddling of two tiny Vietnamese women. I’m told they only make about $1 - $2 per day. It is hard work but it is what they have to do. Poverty is abundant here, and these women have to feed their families, and earn a living. I admire their strength – it is a necessity in this society. I just hope they get to indulge themselves every now and then with a massage, a quiet float down the river or a steaming bowl of Pho that they didn’t have to make themselves. My views on Vietnam have come full circle. I will never forget that many bloody and tragic wars have taken place here. I will never completely understand why. But I won’t think of these things when I remember my trip to Vietnam. I will think of the children laughing and playing in the parks and in the streets, the buzz of the city and the calmness in the countryside; and beautiful, hardworking people, welcoming foreigners into their homes. And I hope that our little visit here has brought even a subtle boost to their economy, their livelihood, and I will pray for their peace from now on.