Pictures!

I finally sifted through my pictures and chose my top 100 favorites. I know that I wouldn't pick the same pictures depending on the day, but to tell the truth I've been procrastinating on it and today I just felt the urge to go ahead and do it! All of the pictures were taken by me, with the exception of those in Brazil because I didn't carry my camera around there. Also, I decided not to put in pictures of me playing with children (although I have many!) because I wanted to protect their privacy. Lastly, I also included pictures from my recent trip to South Africa, Botswana and Zambia in the album. So without further ado, here's the link:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=237363&id=655185800&l=8cf187ac56

Brazil

I know it's been over three weeks since I was in Brazil, but I couldn't stand letting my blog go incomplete after I've kept it up for this semester. I of course had plans to write about it on the ship, but that time was filled with exams, packing, and saying goodbyes, and now that I'm back in Lexington my time seems to slip away faster than ever. Sometimes I think that I fill the time to avoid feeling too still here on land, like if I stop moving then I'm back to reality.

We arrived in Brazil and were cleared surprisingly early. It was looking suspicious outside, threatening of rain, but Elle, Rachel, Aleeza and I had places to go so we headed out. After a short walk, we took an elevator to the historic district of Salvador, Pelourinho. I had thought that I'd taken about every mode of transportation possible so far on this trip, but I guess not!

From the heights of the Pelourinho we could look out to the harbor, to the deep blue ocean and the European-looking buildings. We stopped at a picturesque coffee shop to savor the atmosphere then continued to the main square. There were vendors, women dressed in elaborate makeup and costumes, and people trying to tie ribbons onto our wrists. Apparently you are supposed to make a wish when you first get the ribbon and then when it falls off the wish comes true. But if you cut it off, well, you're in for some bad luck.

The main square had tourist shops, restaurants, art galleries, and more. We visited the church of Sao Francisco, which was built by the Portuguese. The church was much more elaborate than the one I visited in South Africa, but it seemed more distant and almost scary. There was a room filled with statues of bloodied religious figures looking down on us lined all along the wall which I felt uncomfortable staying in for more than a few minutes. Also, we went down some stairs into what appeared to be a tomb for a few dozen Portuguese families - there were rows of drawers on top of one another with people's names written on them. The final thing I remember about the church is the tile. Murals of conquest set in a tropical environment covered many of the church's walls, and they were made of many small tiles put together to form the pictures. My friend Aleeza told us that she learned in one of her classes that the tiles were imported from Europe because no European artists lived in Brazil. It was interesting to contrast this with something I learned from the interport lecturer from Brazil. He said that a Brazilian artist claimed in the mid-1900's that Brazilians could eat European's paintings and vomit them up on a canvas and it would be better art that way.

After the church, we continued wandering down cobblestone streets past colorful buildings. We saw many other SASers, including the Global Studies teacher Don Gogniat. Suddenly, it began pouring. It was the type of rain that if you ran across the street you still got soaked. We took refuge in a restaurant where I ordered some sort of crab dish. Midway through the meal, a man started playing the guitar, which was nice entertainment only slightly tainted when we found out after the fact that we were billed for it.

When the rain temporarily subsided, we made our way to a creperie we had seen earlier in the day. We ordered delicious chocolate and ice cream crepes, and also scored a free coffee because we filled out a survey. The cafe was located in a trendy hostel, and we all agreed that we wouldn't mind staying there.

After our snack, we continued wandering toward some excitement. There was a crowd of people located in one square, and one of the first things we saw was a man signing something for two girls and then taking a picture. Confused, we asked another SASer who told us that they were filming a music video for the world cup. I guess the man was a famous Brazilian singer. Probably thirty or so Brazilians dressed in yellow and green were also milling around the area, and we decided to hang around a little while to see what would happen. A few minutes later, music started blasting and the dancers started performing their routine. The next time they shot the dance, we all decided to join in! Some of my friends waved flags from different countries, and we attempted to follow the dance moves of the professionals. It was really fun, and it confirmed for me that Brazilians love to have a good time and that quality is a big part of their culture. Unfortunately, it started raining again. The dancers performed once in the rain, but then it got to be the ridiculous soaking rain again so everyone scattered for cover. We ended up in a small ice cream shop all packed in like sardines.

After the second downpour of the day, we went back to the ship to get ready for dinner. It was a friend's birthday so we went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant (mmmm guacamole). Afterward we went to a samba club where I learned from a Salvadorian named David how to dance... kind of. I could never quite get the rhythm right.

The next morning Rachel, Aleeza and I walked around the lower section of Salvador, closer to our ship, until we met up with Elle to leave for our adventure. We had decided before Ghana to travel together and seek out some isolated islands south of the city. We took a catamaran to the island of Morro de Sao Paolo, which was the first stretch of our trip to our eventual destination, Boipeda.

Morro de Sao Paolo was bright, beautiful, and beach. There were four beaches, conveniently named One, Two, Three, and Four, stretching along the coast. They were all fairly close together, which was important because there were no cars on the island - only tractors, wheelbarrows, and horses! The island was fairly lively, with a busy main street that led to the beaches where there were lodging and restaurant options. We arrived on the island around the time school let out, so kids ran laughing past us with their backpacks moving. We picked a yellow-painted hostel with hammocks in the front run by an extremely nice man who spoke hardly any English. Luckily, I remembered some of my Spanish so we could vaguely figure out what the other one was talking about.

We had dinner on the beach, where we were approached by a tour operator who arranged transportation for us to Boipeda the next morning. There were several men in brightly colored tank tops that served as tourist agents on the island. After dinner we enjoyed listening to the waves fall on the sand on our backs looking at the stars.

I woke up early the next morning, around 6:30, and decided to view the early morning activities from the hammock. I watched men collect the trash and cart it off in a horse drawn trailer, children playing before school, and people sweeping their steps. Even though we were obviously on a tourist island, it was nice to see these daily routines. Once everyone else woke up, we met at the prearranged spot to get on another catamaran to Boipeda.

There were several other people on the boat, but they were all day trippers. We stopped at a place on the way to get in the water. Some people had snorkels to view the reef below, but we enjoyed the people watching just as much.

Boipeda is enough off the beaten path to make it authentic. It still had many of the elements of Morro de Sao Paolo, such as palm trees, clear blue water, and white sand beaches, but there was no hustle and bustle. The island epitomized relaxation, and the four of us found it a perfect way to end our hectic semesters. We stayed at Pousada 7, which was charming and served fantastic breakfasts. However, our calm was interrupted by a huge spider the first afternoon which Elle found in the shower. After lots of screaming and failed attempts at murder, we finally isolated it under the refrigerator and squashed it. Otherwise, the island was filled with sun, swimming, and serenity.

The first night on the island we found a place off the beach in the jungle that we had read about in a tour book. It was a restaurant and hotel owned and operated by two American brothers. One of the brothers was a chef and he changed the menu every night to reflect the food that was in season. He knew instantly that we were from Semester at Sea because there are not many English tourists in Boipeda and he used to lead trips for SAS on the island. It was interesting to make that connection, especially since we were the only four people from SAS to make it to Boipeda this trip. Anyway, he told us the specials, which all sounded delicious, and I got a lobster dish that was absurdly good. It wasn't served as Americans eat lobster, as a whole entity. Instead, it was part of a concoction with cooked vegetables and a tremendous sauce, almost like a curry (except with a completely different flavor). Then, I got a native Brazilian dish that had prunes and cream, which I was not completely crazy about. We had several questions, and decided to grill the brothers because they were pretty much the only people who spoke English on the island. They arranged for two of my friends to go horseback riding the next day, and answered some questions about other sites on the island.

While the next day was not filled with anything particularly eventful, I did enjoy an epic long walk on the beach with Elle, discussing topics like social responsibility and boys. We walked out until we reached a stream and had to turn back. The way back was slightly more difficult because the tide had risen to the point where it was impossible to walk on the sand, so we had to step carefully in our bare feet. When we returned to Rachel and Aleeza, they were huddled under a bush, and their towels were hanging on branches to avoid the water.

The second night on the island we didn't have enough money for an extravagant dinner but we still all decided to go back and visit and get some of the homemade ice cream. It was funny because a few of the exact same people were in the restaurant from the night before, including a French couple that we became friends with.

The fifth day in Brazil came up too quickly and it was time to leave the island. We arranged a comprehensive way to get back to Salvador, which included a catamaran down the "River of Hell" (I think they called it that so it would stay isolated and wonderful and no one would visit), a car ride, and then a ferry across the bay to Salvador. The trip only took about three hours, so we could walk around Salvador a bit more before boarding the ship and saying goodbye to our final port of call on Semester at Sea, Spring 2010.

Ghana

Ghana was interesting from the beginning. Semester at Sea organized a shuttle service between the ship and the city since it was a 45-minute drive. However, they were only able to take 120 people at a time, and the shuttle only ran every hour. With a ship of over 700, this proved to be a problem. I knew that I didn’t want to hang around so I headed for the door as soon as they cleared the ship even though the group I was planning on going with wasn’t ready yet. Luckily, some of my friends were on the same bus so they adopted me.

 

The ship was docked in Tema, an industrial city, and the port reminded me a lot of Chennai. The drive between Tema and Accra passed some very nice houses, and billboards (all in English) were everywhere. The shuttle dropped us off in Accra at a big purple building on Oxford street which we discovered later was a nightclub. It was easily the nicest and newest building in the area, which I thought was very odd considering its purpose. At first, it seemed that they had left us in a random suburb but we soon realized that this was the city center.

 

Five friends and I crammed into a taxi to go to a cultural center. On the way, we passed Independence Square where Barack Obama spoke last year in his first visit as president to Africa. I learned that Obama chose Ghana due to its stability, economic prosperity, and democracy. There was a beautiful arch in the area that commemorated Ghana’s independence in the late 50’s, and the ocean was not far in the distance.

 

The cultural center turned out to be more of a huge and crazy craft market. The things they were selling were awesome, from drums to paintings to fabrics to wood carvings, but the vendors were unbelievable. First they would shake my hand and smile and ask me my name and where I was from and then they would guide us around and say that they were being our “bodyguard” and then whisper to us that they would give us a special deal at their shop. But they wouldn’t prevent us from going into other places, and they would start talking in another language to the vendor. It was rather mysterious how the whole operation worked. Then other people would come up to me and talk… I probably met forty people in the place. I met Henry and Joe and George and Papu (he was my main bodyguard) and many more.

After a certain point I decided that I was done shopping and while I was waiting for my friends to finish everyone was still trying to sell me things. After they realized I was “not shopping, just looking” we had actual conversations. I learned how to properly shake hands, a procedure that involved snapping with the other person’s fingers. I got an African drumming lesson from Papu and met a guy who made drums for the University of Kentucky basketball team, which was pretty awesome.

 

We returned to Oxford Street, where we looked for lunch. My friend Misha and I decided to go to a traditional Ghanaian restaurant a few blocks away but since everyone else was so hot and thirsty they decided to stop at a Western restaurant. As soon as we reached the place I was really happy we decided to split off—African music blasted from a speaker in the corner and I didn’t recognize anything on the menu. I ordered “red-red” which turned out to be plantains and beans cooked in a somewhat spicy red sauce. The plantains were especially mouth-watering. Misha got an entire fish on her plate, and we worked together to pick it off the bones.

 

After lunch it was already three in the afternoon. We reunited with our friends, who had heard that a soccer game was going on at the stadium, so we hired a taxi to go to the game but it turned out there are no games on Sundays. We had another mix up with the driver on the way back because he thought we wanted to go to this big posh beach resort, so when we arrived there we had to retrace our steps. Even though everyone I encountered in Ghana spoke English, their accent was different so sometimes it was impossible to understand each other even though we were both speaking the same language.

 

On the street I met a guy who went to the University of Louisville and who is a professor now. When I told him I was from Kentucky he hugged me and kissed my neck and said “yes now I see that is why you are so pretty. Everyone from Kentucky is so sweet and pretty.” It never ceases to amaze me how connections are made around the world, and how excited people in these other countries are to see us.

 

We visited Global Mamas, a fair trade shop where women are employed to make various products from bags to necklaces to clothing. More interesting than the shopping to me was the fact that I saw Warner, the librarian, outside of the shop and he introduced me to his Ghanaian friend that used to go to UVA. We had a very nice conversation.

 

We walked along the streets of Accra and after deciding there was not much more to see  and it was also starting to get dark we stopped at a restaurant. While we were there for all of thirty minutes, the building lost power twice, which apparently is normal. We returned to the purple building to catch the shuttle back to the ship.

 

My second day in Ghana I went on an FDP to the Shai Hills Game Reserve and the Akosombo Dam. The tour had a rocky start since the bus was an hour and a half late. If it had taken thirty minutes longer, the tour would have been cancelled and we would’ve all had to make alternative plans. The bus came, and we headed to the Game Reserve. We passed through several villages that had shops selling anything and everything outside. I saw kid’s toys, bed frames, cell phones, underwear, and lumber all for sale. The shops were generally named something religious, such as “God Loves You Electronics” or “He Lives On Barber Shop”. One of the professors on the ship talked about how Africa was surpassing first world countries in Christian zeal, and now missionaries from Africa were actually going to the states to convert people. I also learned later that Ghanaians believe that they will continue their professions in the afterlife, so they construct coffins to reflect their jobs. I saw coffins that were looked and colorfully painted as fish, airplanes, and beer bottles. It was very peculiar.

 

The first thing we saw at the game reserve was the baboons. I was very excited to see these monkeys but when we arrived at a trash pit with baboons picking at the village’s garbage I was a little less thrilled. It was still interesting to watch their behavior and compare it to a human, but the whole situation seemed very surreal. A bathtub was amongst the garbage, and a baboon perched on its edge, while other baboons picked through plastic looking for food. There were probably twenty baboons all told, and they got up quite close to us, obviously comfortable being around humans (and all their trash).

 

After the baboons we got back in the bus and drove to a bat cave. It was a short hike up to the cave but we knew we were close by the smell. It smelled awful because of all the bat poop. We also started to hear screeching of the bats. I was first behind the guide to see the bats and when we shimmied through to a clearing we could see the bats between two boulders—hundreds of them. We could hear their wings move the wind as they fluttered around. This experience made me realize that I am not a huge fan of bats.

 

We retraced our steps back to the bus and went to lunch at a nice hotel on the river. We ate rice, chicken, and turkey with slightly spicy red sauces. I also got an ice cream as it was boiling outside; Ghana is located approximately at the intersection of the equator and the prime meridian.

 

After lunch we continued to the dam. The Akosombo Dam was constructed shortly after independence, and was seen as a symbol of Ghana’s emergence as a new nation. It created Lake Volta, the largest manmade lake in the world and one that covers 3.6% of the total land area of Ghana (which is about the size of Indiana and Illinois combined). The lake is long and narrow so it didn’t seem that huge from the vantage point of the dam. We toured the control center and saw the six operating turbines, but it was hard to understand the guide over their noise. Then we went to the top of the dam and walked down part of it. Our guide said it was a “natural dam” because it was made out of sand and rocks but personally I think that anything that created the largest manmade lake in the world is not really natural.

 

The third day in Ghana I volunteered for Habitat for Humanity. We left around seven, drove for a couple hours, and worked between 10 and 1 and 2 and 3. The drive itself was interesting because in many places the roads weren’t paved, so the bus bumped over the dirt. These weren’t back country roads, either; these were main roads to the interior of the country. Like the previous day, I enjoyed looking out the window at the shops who used God as their major marketing technique.

 

Once we arrived on site we met Raymond, who worked for Habitat for Humanity. He told us a little about the village. It had just under a hundred houses, and a school. The school was small and lacked funding so most children only went for half a day, either in the morning or the afternoon. He also said that the well was drying up but to build a new, deeper well it would cost $8,000, about the same price it takes to build a house in Ghana.

 

After the introduction, Raymond split us into three groups. My group was building a house for a man named David, who had one four year old son and was so nice. Our task was to move dirt into one of the rooms to fill a foundation. It was very time consuming because we only had one wheelbarrow and two of those carry-on-your-head metal bowls. It was hard work and I was sweating profusely, but loving to help out. Even though we only completed a fraction of the total work that had to be done, it was wonderful to work alongside a man as compassionate as David.

There were lots of kids around helping out while we were working. These two named Joseph and Bismark were so into it - they were running between the dirt pile and the house and working twice as hard as any of us. On the one hand I was impressed by their work ethic but I was also sad that they had to grow up so fast and did not have an opportunity to just be a kid. I also met a boy, Ishmael, and as soon as we met he put his arm around my waist and started taking me around. He really wanted to have my camera and would say things like "baby, I beg you. Please give it to me." A few minutes later, he told me that I was going to be his wife. This, by the way, was before he knew my name. I asked him how old he was (12) and told him that I thought he was too young for me. He asked me how old I was and when I told him he said "okay, I am twenty." He was a character. On top of everything he was holding his baby brother the whole time on his hip.

 

We said goodbye to Raymond, David, and all of the children. I gave my remaining water that I had bought for the day to one of the girls. She also asked if I had a pen, and I regretted not have something as simple as that to give to her.

 

A few days after the trip, I talked to one of my friends on the ship. He said that Raymond took him to a nearby stream and told him that that stream used to be their life. Then, gold miners came and disposed all of their waste in the water when they left so the stream was completely polluted.

 

The last day in Ghana I took an SAS trip to an Electronic Waste Market. My first semester of college, I did a research project about electronic waste. I learned about how developed areas such as the United States and Europe exported their useless computers, cell phones, televisions, and more to poorer countries like Ghana. It operates, in essence, like an international not-in-my-backyard (NIMBY) phenomenon; first world countries don’t want the waste to remain in their country and third world countries don’t have the regulations or wealth to say no. I knew that people worked at the electronic waste dumps disassembling and reassembling the usable equipment, and burned material to get to more valuable components like copper. I learned that burning plastics released carcinogens, and often hazardous material leached into the soil and groundwater supplies. But for all that I knew from studying, I was unprepared for the electronic waste FDP in Ghana.

 

We drove through Accra to reach this market. The whole time I wondered where it would be located because some of the neighborhoods were very affluent, as evidenced by their high walls and barbed wire protection. We drove down the most industrialized street I had encountered in Ghana, with glitzy car dealerships, cell phone headquarters, and Westernized factories lining both sides of the road. From this street, we turned left, drove a mere two blocks and turned left again—we were now driving parallel to the modernized street and could still see their buildings. But looking the other way, I saw the poorest, most polluted area that I had come across so far in my travels. Black smoke filled the air from what seemed to be a burning TV, a river probably thirty feet wide was edged on both sides by trash, but worst of all was the realization that people lived near this horribly polluted area. People from the community looked up at our tacky lime green tour bus with confusion and distrust.

 

We parked the bus and split off into groups of seven, each accompanied by a faculty member, to explore the area independently for thirty minutes. My group got a little off track and wound up in the residential area, where ramshackle, degraded buildings ran together. The soil was black and trash was everywhere, but somehow everyone seemed to be going about their daily lives. After a few minutes of walking around, a local man came up to us and wanted to know how we had arranged to come here and told us we had to leave. We tried to explain while walking in the direction of the smoke, but the man was persistent and followed us to the waste site. There, he met Dan Sprau, our trip leader and my Water for the World teacher, and told him a similar message. He was a community representative so he wanted our visit to include a stop at the community center. Our whole group returned to the bus and Dan and two other faculty members followed the man into the community to hear his case while the rest of us continued the tour with our guide.

 

We went back to the place we had been shooed from, where the electronic waste was located amongst heaps of other trash along the river. We met a local businessman whose job was to take electronics apart and then sell the components individually, and then a second man who put computers back together. They said their business without hesitation, and even seemed to take pride in what they were doing. They said they burned the insulation off of copper wires and when someone asked if that was bad to breathe they said that people got used to it since they were working in the fumes as soon as they realized the value of money. When someone else asked when that was, they replied five years old.

 

The longer I stayed in the area, the more uncomfortable I felt. It was hot and I could feel sweat dripping down my back and my eyes burned from the smoke and I felt like I was going to throw up because of the smell of acid. I looked at the water and saw a white bird land on the trash that had accumulated in the middle of the water.

 

We walked back to the bus with the two men we had talked to and I asked one of them how long the electronic waste site had been there. He guessed that it had existed for fifteen or twenty years, but said that he had only lived there for four years. He said he moved from northern Ghana, a twelve hour drive away, because the work opportunities in Accra were greater. It made me squirm to think that working at an electronic waste site is so desirable as to attract people from their villages. Another thing that I realized while on site was that I had not seen any people older than forty, due to the low life expectancy of the community.

 

When the professors rejoined our group on the bus, they said they had visited the men at the community center and had the opportunity to learn more background about the area. Dan said that between 35,000 and 60,000 people lived in the settlement. In the area, there were no schools, no hospitals, and virtually no infrastructure. It was a developmental disaster. The Ghanaian government had moved to relocate the people several years ago but they refused to move. The reason why they didn’t want to move was never completely clear to me, although I can only guess that they didn’t think they could make as high of a living in an alternative situation. Therefore, solving the issue of electronic waste is not as simple as taking away the supply. Providing the people who work in the electronic waste market is just as important. I was only there for two hours and couldn’t imagine having a life in such a hell. I was relieved to return to the ship and reenter into a world of comfort.

Cape Town, South Africa

Once again, I am very grateful to have “insider information” about my itinerary on this voyage. I have Marcielle, another of my mother’s co-workers, to thank for her great help in deciding what to do while in Cape Town.

 

The five days in the city all featured glorious sunny weather with temperatures in the seventies. I woke up the first morning to see the sunrise light up Table Mountain, the prominent geographic feature in the city. We watched the lights of the city disappear as the sun came out and revealed the mountain in all of its glory.

 

We were not required to do a face to face check or have a diplomatic briefing. However, the mother of Amy Biehl, a woman who was murdered in Cape Town in 1993, spoke to us before we disembarked. She told the story of her daughter, who studied at Stanford before moving to Cape Town as a Fulbright Scholar to work against apartheid. She was driving her friends’ home the day before she was scheduled to leave the country, and on the way back she was attacked and stabbed. Her parents now run a foundation dedicated to the memory of Amy located in townships similar to the ones where her daughter was murdered to counteract the lasting effects of apartheid. She has forgiven the crime, and recognizes that it was a result of the social climate rather than the individual. Two of Amy’s killers even work for the foundation now. It was very powerful to hear Mrs. Biehl speak about Amy, and even more amazing to hear the story about forgiveness.

 

I had to leave midway through the talk to go on the trip I signed up for to satisfy a class requirement. The trip went to three power generation facilities: a nuclear plant, an open cycle gas turbine plant, and a wind farm. All three places were run by Eskom, an energy company that produces 95% of South Africa’s energy and 45% of the energy of the entire continent. We were met by smart and well-informed employees who fully understood the problems their company faced. Some of these problems included needing to be self-sufficient due to underdeveloped neighboring countries, and how to continue economic growth with limited energy supplies. I enjoyed further refining my thoughts about energy use and production. For example, where should we draw the line between using energy for “progress” and saving energy for conservation of natural resources?

 

The wind farm was really more like a backyard experimental garden than an industrial farm—it only had three turbines and only one was operating when we visited. However, it was still impressive to see one up close and personal, and we even got to go inside.

 

After the trip I came back and had relaxed along the Victoria and Alfred (V&A) Waterfront, where we were docked. The V&A Waterfront is very cosmopolitan and lively, with regular artistic performances, a large mall, lots of smaller boutique stores, and a wide selection of restaurants. It seemed to be a gathering place of tourists and affluent locals alike. With so many passerby, our ship was getting a lot of attention, and by the end of the voyage I had explained the program to at least a dozen curious people. There was also a huge, gleaming white private yacht docked next to us. I heard the owner arranged it to be docked there for weeks leading up to the World Cup so he would have a prime location during the games in June. Seals also sunned themselves near our ship, and I even saw one sitting on the hull (I think it’s called the hull) of the MV Explorer!

 

After walking around the waterfront, I went to dinner with some Jewish friends who were happy to eat at a kosher restaurant during Passover. We ordered South African wine and lots of meat and had a wonderful dinner, returning to the ship after eleven.

 

The next day I got up early for another Semester at Sea trip, this time to Robben Island. I was very happy going into the trip because all of the trips to the island were sold out before we got to Cape Town. Additionally, the trip through Semester at Sea was cheaper than a normal ticket, a real first in the history of the program. However, when we got to the ferry station at seven in the morning and heard that we wouldn’t be back until after four, when it was advertised to get back at 2:30, I was less than amused. Luckily my friend Analise and I were able to get on a returning boat that left the island at twelve.

 

With these arrangements in order, we visited the island where Nelson Mandela and dozens of others were imprisoned during the years of apartheid. We took a boat ride, and I sat next to our guide on the way over. He was a white peace activist banker. He used to talk to international banks and try to convince them to withdraw funding and refuse to offer loans until apartheid ended. He told me that this was one of the main reasons apartheid collapsed—without monetary collateral the country couldn’t operate.

 

We arrived on the island and began the program. It was designed by the Cathedral Justice and Reconciliation Group as a reflective journey. We explored themes like community, faith, justice, and diversity at different sites around the island. We visited a Kramat, where a Muslim leader died in 1754, a leper cemetery, the lime quarry where the prisoners toiled, and of course the prison. Our leader stressed to us that the island was more than Nelson Mandela, and had been a place where people had been banished for centuries.

 

Analise and I split off to visit the inside of the jail before catching the 12:00 ferry. The cells were tiny, and each of them featured a picture of the prisoner, indicated when they were imprisoned, and a short story. It was eerily quiet where we were walking, and beams of sun shone through the jail cell windows, making thin shapes on the floor. We were guided to Nelson Mandela’s cell, which had a mat on the floor, a small chamber pot, and a single chair. I couldn’t imagine living there for a week, much less twenty-seven years.

 

We took the ferry back and went to a restaurant which had complimentary wi-fi if you bought something. So we ordered egg rolls and samosas and enjoyed some skyping.

 

A few hours later I left for dinner to meet my friend Eric and his boyfriend Michael, who had flown in for the week. Twelve of us had a feast at a place called Africa Café, and had at least a dozen courses, from sweet potato balls covered in sesame seeds to delicious lamb. When we were all sufficiently stuffed, our waitresses performed an African dance with drumming and singing. They were all exquisitely dressed, and had designs painted on their faces. It was an awesome, albeit expensive, dinner experience.

 

After dinner we walked a few blocks to the Green Market Square, where a free jazz concert was being held. Our ship was visiting during a huge jazz festival, and this night featured the only free performances. The atmosphere was alive and fun, and people were dancing everywhere.

 

Our third day in Cape Town I went with three girls on a guided township tour. Our guide, Anele, picked us up at eight and we headed off in a large van. We went to the Bo Kaap neighborhood first, which has colorful houses and a strong Muslim influence. Anele told us that during the period when whites were relocating blacks to townships the whites kept the Bo Kaap neighborhood as it was. The reasons for this were because of the high density of mosques in the area (Anele said that for all of apartheid’s failures, it at least respected other people’s religions), and also because the neighborhood housed citizens that worked for the whites living in Cape Town, whether as domestic servants or as mechanics. The neighborhood was quiet the morning we visited, but as it was Good Friday I imagined that people were in their homes with their families.

 

We drove to an overlook of District 6, one of the most famous neighborhoods that was completely destroyed during apartheid. The only thing that we were looking at that morning was an expansive grassy field. Anele described that the area used to be a place where blacks, coloreds, and even whites lived together harmoniously. As such, those in positions of power during the apartheid years saw that they had to get rid of this example that people of different races could live in the same space. While we were there, Anele also told us some stories from his childhood. Anele was colored, but he had a mother and an older brother with fairer skin. He said that one day his mother was shopping in a store and his father was holding his older brother outside of the store. A policeman came up to his father and demanded whose baby he was holding. When his father replied that he was holding his own baby, the policeman tried to take the baby from him because he thought that Anele’s father had stolen the baby. Luckily, Anele’s mother came out of the store, and the situation was resolved.

 

Hearing that story and trying to imagine a whole neighborhood where there was nothing but grass was hard. I couldn’t imagine having to prove that my child was my own to the police. Part of me felt glad that I had not lived through those times and didn’t have any responsibility to what had happened, but a larger part realized that there were so many injustices still today that seeing myself as blameless would be a lie. Living in the states and being a first-world consumer, I support (knowingly and unknowingly) all kinds of injustice around the world. My tennis shoes and t-shirt that I was wearing that day might have been produced with child labor or workers laboring below minimum wage, and of course our grand ship was using fuel that could be funding military operations in another country. I realized that it is futile to put myself on a pedestal when my everyday choices have international implications.

 

We left District 6 to visit the oldest township in Cape Town, Langa, which means “sun”. A few miles outside of the city the townships—seemingly endless stretches of shacks—began. Once inside the township, the appearance was much less grim, and children played in the street and music seemed to come from every other house. While we waited for our township guide to get out of the Good Friday church service, we walked around a market area. We passed rows of meat vendors and barbeques, where women cooked. Anele told us that barbeques were popular because most residents of the townships did not have any ovens. I felt like an outsider for the first time I had been in Cape Town because the townships were completely different than the modernized city, and of course we were the only white people in sight. However, most people seemed happy to see us, and Anele said that people liked tourists because we provided money for their township and also sometimes reported back to our legislators about the need to improve the quality of life within the township.

 

We met Sugar, our guide, as well as a retired couple from France, outside a shop which sold art that the township people had produced. Sugar took us to a bar/hangout area first, which was pretty empty due to the holiday, but still had a pool table, tables, and beer advertisements. Then we began to walk through the townships. We passed many different types of houses; some made out of concrete that looked inhabitable and others that were tilting shacks that looked like they should be bulldozed. Soon, we came upon some “hostels” which were government-owned residences. There was a clear demarcation between the old hostels, which were gray and falling apart, and the new hostels, which were painted brown. A woman invited the six of us into her residence on the second story of one of the old hostels.

 

We entered a dark communal area with one window in the corner where a woman was washing a metal pot that reflected the sun into the room like a mirror. A baby of seven months was playing on a blanket, being overseen by her mother, and several other people came in and out of the room while we were there. The woman who invited us up showed us her room, which had three bunk beds and was full of various possessions. When we asked her how many people lived in the room she said three FAMILIES. So this one room, with three bunk beds, housed ten people. Four other similar rooms connected to the common area, so that twelve families shared the space. I could hardly believe it.

 

We went down the stairs back outside where we saw some kids playing. They smiled at us and asked us to take their picture. As I was reaching for my camera I realized that one of the smaller children, probably around three, was peeing on the ground.

 

We walked through the hostel complex area and I was oddly reminded of a college dorm since all of the buildings were identical. However, it was decidedly different with rows of laundry hanging in the common spaces, women peering out at us from their windows, and children running around.

 

Sugar took us to one of the newer hostels, where one family had its own kitchen/living room, bathroom and bedroom. Compared to the first hostel, it seemed luxurious. Sugar said that the older hostel rented 20 Rand (about $3) a month for a family, while the new hostel rented for 300 Rand (about $40) a month for a family. As I digested this information, I realized that my meal the last night at Africa Café cost nearly as much as a month’s rent in one of the newer hostels.

 

We continued walking, and went past the “Beverly Hills of Langa” where the more affluent people in the township lived. Their houses had fences, satellite dishes, and manicured lawns. A couple blocks further, we entered the area of Langa which had shacks made of wood and plastic. Sugar said that fire was a big problem because it could easily spread and wipe out many people’s residences in a short amount of time. She also pointed out the communal toilets, which looked like metal port-a-potties, and communal water source which came out of a pipe. I looked down the road and saw a row of four children holding hands. I started walking toward them and one of them broke off and they all started running towards us. One picked me out and hugged my legs and looked up at me happily. I picked him up and tried to talk to him but he didn’t understand English. I learned from Sugar that his name meant “My Own”. He had a snotty nose and big eyes, and whenever I tried to put him down he gripped me with his legs determinedly. Several more children came out to greet us, so that when it was time to leave we had gathered a small crowd. As the four of us girls got into van, the kids climbed up with us. Anele patiently let them crawl around the van for a few minutes, but soon we had to pluck them out and drive away, waving behind us.

 

We visited Khayelitsha, the biggest township of Cape Town with over one million residences. As we entered the vast, foreign world, Anele announced to us, “Girls, welcome to Khayelitsha.” Anele did not stop the van for us to walk around in this township because there had been recent protests and he did not think it was safe. Apparently the Cape Town government is putting in a new bus system and the taxi drivers are worried that they will lose business so they are protesting. We passed rows of shacks, small shops, and barbers, and I really could not get my mind wrapped around how big the area was.

 

Anele dropped us off at the ship in time for lunch. After eating, I took a taxi with two of the girls I had traveled with and Brittany, my roommate, to Kalk Bay. It was a beautiful drive, with hills running along the ocean. There was also a 5K going on next to where we were driving, which was fun to watch. I found out when I got back to the ship that Zach, one of my friends on the ship, had gotten fourth place overall! In addition, the next day they were having a 56K marathon. I don’t think anyone on the ship attempted that race though…

 

Once at Kalk Bay, I walked along the ocean past fishermen with long poles, small shops, and restaurants. One shop in particular stuck out as unique as it had all sorts of random things for sale in different rooms of the house. It was almost like the possessions of ten homes had gone to this one house and now everything was for sale. My friend and I stopped at the end of a pier to talk and reflect on the day. It was crazy how many different sides there are to South Africa, and how easy it is to live exclusively in one area.

 

The fourth day I woke up determined to hike Table Mountain. Unfortunately, I hadn’t heard of anyone going that day, but as luck would have it I found out at breakfast that some of my friends from the University of San Diego and Andrea, who I traveled with in India, were hiking that day. They had met an “awesome” taxi driver earlier in the week and he would be picking us up at nine so I was excited that everything was set to go.

 

Our taxi driver, Earl, certainly was a character. He was seventy years old semi-retired driver who enjoyed talking to foreigners and tried to break the bad stereotype of taxi drivers around the world. He was very opinionated and every now and again started singing. He hiked Table Mountain from his waterfront residence once a week, and decided to hike it with us that morning. So after we picked up lunch at a grocery store we all headed up the mountain. One of the girls with us was not feeling too well that morning but Earl was the perfect motivator and we made it slowly but surely up the mountain. On the way, I asked Earl about his family (four children) and questions about South Africa in general. He said that he had been robbed at gunpoint and knifepoint, and had gone through six cell phones because they had all gotten stolen. From his point of view, crime was the biggest problem of South Africa today.

 

The hike up the mountain was not long, but it was continuously uphill and rocky. We met several people along the way, including an eighty-year-old from England. We were disappointed in the weather because the mountain was blanketed with a cloud. After the half-way point it was very wet and windy, and we couldn’t see out at the view at all. Once we got to the top and walked over to the cable car area, the clouds miraculously broke so we were rewarded with a spectacular view of the ocean and city. We ate lunch at chatted at the top. We asked a man to take a picture of us girls and Earl, and when the man told us “say whatever you want to say” before he snapped the picture, Earl yelled “VIAGRA!” As I said, Earl was a character.

 

We took the cable car to the base of the mountain. It was an interesting ride because the floor of the cable car rotated a full 360 degree turn in the four minutes it took to descend the mountain. We walked back to the car, said goodbye to Yellow Man, the “strange fellow” (according to Earl) who acted as a parking patron, and left Table Mountain feeling accomplished.

 

We stopped briefly at the “Biscuit Market” which reminded me of a Charlottesville farmer’s market. By the time we arrived, many of the stands were sold out, but there were still some vendors who sold locally grown, organic foods. It seemed to attract a younger, affluent crowd, maybe in their late-twenties. There were also several boutique shops, but none of us were really in the mood to shop so we decided to return to the ship. I hugged Earl good bye, showered and had dinner on the ship, and went to bed soon afterward.

 

The next morning I got up early to go to church on Easter Sunday. As most of you know, I am really not very religious, but I was very set on going to church this morning for some reason. I think I wanted to do something that I knew that I would only be able to do on this particular day. Anyway, I joined Luzuko, the interport student from South Africa, at his church in his township. Twelve of us piled into a taxi van and headed off.

 

We started the morning by visiting Luzuko’s family’s house, where we met his mother and his younger brother. His brother was watching cartoons on a TV which seemed very surreal somehow. His house had a living room in the same space as the kitchen, two bedrooms, an office/bedroom, a room used for storage, and a bathroom. Six people lived in the house, but Luzuko lived in a shack in the same township so he could have his own space. We thanked his mother for letting us in his house and continued to the church.

 

The church was easily one of the nicest buildings in the township. The inside was bright and airy, and instead of pews were lines of red plastic chairs. Dozens of women were dressed in purple clothes and seemed to act as church helpers. They were all very happy to see us, and hugged us and wished us all Happy Easter. They insisted that we sit close to the front, just behind three rows of priests dressed in white. Although the service was supposed to begin at nine, people only began to come in large numbers later than that. However, when I looked over my shoulder I realized the church was packed. Suddenly, around nine twenty, people started to sing. I had never heard singing like this. It was so rich and deep, and I felt that it went through me like gushing water. It didn’t seem to come from other people; it seemed to come from the walls and the floor of the church itself. People were swaying, dancing, and clapping their hands to the music as they could not contain themselves. It was beautiful.

 

After a few songs a woman read from a book in one of the African clicking languages. I was impressed by how involved the women were at this church, especially since churches in the states seem to be largely patriarchal. Children lit candles at the altar to another glorious song. Then, one of the priests in white spoke to the congregation and had bags of rice he dropped on the floor. Luzuko explained to us that the church raised money for times of hunger by selling bags of rice when the food was plentiful. I liked the idea of this kind of offering. The priest also said that they were raising money for a huge banquet because the pastor of fifteen years was leaving to go to Chicago. After money had been collected and the rice had been sold, the pastor began the service. By this time, it was 10:30. He announced at the beginning in English that the service would be “stretched” so he said that no one would be offended if we left early. This understanding meant a lot, and it reinforced to me how welcome I felt at this church.

 

The pastor spoke mostly in the clicking language, but would also switch occasionally to English so we could understand what he was talking about. The pastor spoke with fire and passion, and absolutely lit up the podium at which he stood. He used his hands with excitement and sometimes his fingers shook at the seriousness of what he was saying. Watching him preach was very real and transfixing, even when I could not understand what he was saying. From what I gathered, he was talking about how women were crucial in the church, and how it was them who had the duty of washing Jesus with the oil and discovered that he was gone. Every so often, one of the female priests dressed in white would cry out and begin a song, to which the congregation would alight. I saw children dancing in the aisle, a woman with a tambourine, and people swaying with their bibles. The most unnatural thing about the experience was not the actions of the people in the congregation; it was the behavior of the woman sitting next to me. She was one of the nurses on Semester at Sea and she was filming the service. I told her when she took her camera out for the fourth or fifth time that I wished she would put it away because it made me feel embarrassed. She said she understood where I was coming from, but she just wanted to capture the singing because it was so powerful. To this comment, I could only respond, “I know.” Of course I wish I could have captured some of the service to look at later, but to me the moment was so moving that I didn’t want to have to disconnect myself from it by opening up my camera.

 

We left the service at eleven, and I returned to the ship with about half of the other people who had gone to the church. I had lunch on the ship and then hung out with my friend Phi at the V&A Waterfront. We got some ice cream at the grocery and ate it together watching people pass us by. I enjoyed the sun and the company, and reluctantly returned to the ship after another fantastic port.

 

Almost as a sign, when we woke up the next morning we were still in Cape Town. Apparently it was too windy to leave, but we weren’t allowed to leave the ship of course, and class continued as normal. Everyone lamented that they couldn’t get off even for thirty minutes to grab a meal. Finally, the ship was cleared to leave around four, and we bid South Africa farewell.

Mauritius

In looking at the places on the itinerary, Mauritius is the awkward two-day country. Apparently previous participants of SAS did not behave very well while on the island, therefore we were only allowed to stop for two days and one night, hardly more time than it takes to refuel. So here we were on a teensy but beautiful island in the middle of the Indian Ocean off the coast of Madagascar. The island was a weird mixture of Indian, African, and Western cultures; I saw samosas and McDonalds and people of all different colors. We learned how Mauritius is a great example of how governments can work—it gained its independence in the 60’s and has since turned into a strong economy, first through sugarcane, then textiles, then information technology. Mauritius is clean, relatively ordered, and safe, and is a major tourist destination for many Europeans.

 

Many people planned on spending the duration of the voyage on the beach, but when we woke up in Mauritius we all realized it was raining. I headed off with eight friends to the bus station to take us to a town near a volcano crater.

 

By the time we arrived to the town it was around lunchtime so we stopped in to a bakery to get treats for lunch. As we finally made our way to start to hike, a couple of the people we were with got sidetracked at another bakery. However, at this bakery they met a local, Prama Mungur, who we soon discovered was a retired rocket scientist. He was five feet tall, with a shiny bald head, glasses, and a very congenial attitude. He had taught physics in Universities in the US, Germany, France, England, and had grandchildren living in Ohio. Whenever we would ask him where he was from, he would just laugh and say that he was from the world.

 

Mr. Mungur offered to drive us in his car to the crater. Since there were so many of us three people sat in the trunk of the station wagon. At first when we arrived at the crater all of the mountains around were covered in clouds, but we could still look into the crater and see the trees and then a small pond at the bottom. Mr. Mungur told us that this volcano was what started the island of Mauritius 8 million years ago. After hanging around for awhile, the clouds cleared so we could see the other mountains on the island and the ocean behind them. The mountain forms there are abrupt and bizarre - some are very close to the ocean and shoot up in weird shapes. He told us that one in particular looked like inverted udders of a cow and I had to agree.

 

After seeing the crater and taking in the great views at the lookout point, Mr. Mungur took us to his house. It was under renovation and the fridge had lost power over the night, but even still it was a very nice place with a fantastic view on the third floor and lots of windows letting in light. We hung out for awhile at his house, and he told us how to say “I love you” in the French Creole language of Mauritius: "mo content toi", which I think translates to something like "we are content together". French people, correct me if I'm wrong.

 

Mr. Mungur dropped us off at a bus stop, which we took to another town. Some people left from there to get back to Port Louis early, but my friend Aleeza and I still hungered for some hiking so we split off. We saw a mountain not too far away so just walked in that direction. We went up one street and ran into some scary guard dogs, and rerouted to another road that led to an open park. We relaxed at the park for awhile until we realized that a path continued up the mountain, so with this discovery we headed onward.

 

The path was well-traveled, not by tourists but rather by people in the neighborhood who used the hike as exercise. We saw one man go up and down the mountain three times while we meandered along. At the top we found amazing views of both the surprising mountains and the cities below.

 

We retraced our steps and when we had gotten back to the road the man we had seen exercising caught up to us. He was a native Mauritian living in London who was visiting his mother for vacation. When we told him that we were only here for two days he said incredulously, “Two days and you come here?!?” clearly not understanding the way that we travel with limited ability to research without internet and everything. He was a nice guy though, and showed us the way to the bus station where we took a bus back to Port Louis.

 

The second day nine of us hired a driver through the SAS tour contact which we unfortunately ended up waiting for over an hour to arrive. We still got to the beach before 11 and were able to get on a boat to go snorkeling right away. The reef was nothing like the Great Barrier Reef in Australia, but I still enjoyed swimming and trying to keep up with the schools of fish. In many places it looked like the coral had been bleached, and I wondered how long the reef would last. Mauritius is surrounded by a circle of reefs, and unquestionably relies on them for storm control and tourism.

 

I got mouth-watering samosas from a man on a bicycle at the beach, and enjoyed the time in the sun. Two families from the ship were at the same beach so we played with their kids, throwing them in the ocean and burying them in sand. We headed back to Port Louis around two, giving us enough time to explore the markets and waterfront area before returning to the ship. I cut it close, and only just made it back on board before getting penalized for being late with dock time.

India: Cochin

My first motive back on the ship was to take a shower. After that, I unpacked, settled back in a bit, and had lunch. By this time the ship really was my comfort zone, and it was nice to return to familiar territory.

 

After lunch, my friend Andrea and I set off to take a ferry to the mainland (we were docked on an island artificially constructed during the time of the British). On the way to the ferry, we were harassed by rickshaw drivers offering to take us around the whole city for only five dollars. We were almost tempted to agree just so that they would stop annoying us. Luckily, we made it to the ferry and realized that we had made the right choice: a ferry ride cost only two rupees, the equivalent of about three cents.

 

Once in the town center, Andrea and I were content with wandering around without a particular schedule. We stumbled upon a local crafts market, looked at flashy covers of Bollywood movies, and had ice cream. At the ice cream place, we chatted with the waiter about the differences of how expensive things are in the states versus India. Andrea noted after we left that Indians do have a big interest in business and moving up the economic ladder, and she wondered if it was because with globalization they could see all of the material wealth out there.

 

We visited another Hindu temple and a mosque for one of Andrea’s classes. In both places we were gawked at by locals since we were in residential areas where most tourists would never frequent. At one point a high-school aged boy joined us for our walk until he met up with some of his friends. Later in the day, near the mosque we were persuaded into playing some badminton with a couple younger boys by their father, who enthusiastically kept score. The jury is still out on whether he was just naturally animated or a little drunk.

 

When we went to the mosque, we saw a Muslim man. He seemed confused to why we had come and asked us briskly, “What do you want!” When we responded that we didn’t want anything, we just wanted to look at the mosque from the outside he seemed very taken aback, and went on his way.

 

We went to a restaurant recommended by one of the Indian LLC’s on the ship where we ran into three other SASers. After a lively dinner we took a rickshaw back to the ferry back to the ship to call it a night.

 

The second day in Cochin, I had an FDP trip going to Kumbalangi, a fishing village located in the backwaters of Cochin. I had become accustomed to seeing lakes and canals heavily pollted with trash elsewhere in India, but slipping into the country the waters became as clean and serene as any in the United States. I guess this would be because the fishermen depend on the water directly for their survival, and cannot substitute bottled water like those living in the cities.

 

To access the village we took traditional boats. These boats were controlled by two men, one in front and the other in the back, who used long bamboo poles to move through the water. On the way, one of the people in our group decided to jump in for a swim! I’m not sure if that was a good choice; he did smell a little funky afterward.

 

Once docked, we were greeted by a village guide and coconut water. As we sipped from the coconut, the villager told us about the usefulness of the coconut tree. While its fruit is used for consumption, the oil  is used for cooking, its husk is used to make coir, which is then made into rope, its roots are used as a medicine, and the trunk is used in construction. Overall, it was a valuable lesson in sustainability because the villagers utilized every part of the tree without having any leftover waste. The state of Kerala reveres the coconut so much that its name translates to “land of coconut.”

 

After hearing about all of the virtues of the coconut, we got to see the coir making process. It involves soaking, drying, and beating the husk in order to turn the husk into a usable fiber. The fiber is then treaded through a wooden contraption where the fibers bind together to make a thicker cord. The contraption looked like a rotating steering wheel and required no mechanical inputs, just three women working the rope. When a good amount of the thicker cord combined, the women stopped the spinning contraption and started to braid three of the cords together. WE saw an even larger rope being made later, which again required only the labor of three men twisting and braiding the rope. I felt the rope after it was completed and it seemed incredibly strong, maybe even enough to hold our ship to the dock!

 

We also saw some of the traditional fishing methods of the village. Some women caught fish with their bare hands, using shrimps as bait. We also saw the ancient Chinese fishing nets in operation. The village did have some fish farming where species caught in the river were grown in ponds until they were large enough to be sold in the market. The ponds also held crabs, and the village guide showed us one whose body was bigger than my head!

 

A potter made a flower pot using a pottery wheel powered by man. He spun it around fast with using a stick and when it was going fast enough he got to work on shaping it. The whole process took less than two minutes but turned out looking like one that had been made on a mechanical wheel.

 

We moved to an incredibly beautiful stretch along the water for a dance performance and then lunch. The performance was called KolKali, and was done by male dancers who beat bamboo sticks together. They sang and beat their sticks the whole time, but the rhythm and mood of the dance varied widely. Sometimes it was almost peaceful, while other times I they were screaming and running fast and banging and I thought they would all run into each other and fall over.

 

Lunch was once again phenomenal, and afterwards we had some free time to enjoy the setting. I wandered down the bank awhile until I reached an old man. He didn’t speak English, but was motioning to his stomach and smiling at me. At first I thought he was asking if I enjoyed the food, but then I realized that he wondered if I had any to give him. As I was shaking my head, one of the villagers ushered me away, and I felt like I had intruded on something. It seemed wrong that as we were feasting one of the villagers did not have enough to eat. I didn’t know the full story, of course, but even the brief experience made me feel uneasy.

 

Rickshaws took us back to the bus, where we proceeded to go to Fort Cochin, a historical area of the city. We visited the oldest church in India, which was much more rustic, but no less spiritual, than those in Europe, and saw the home where Vasco de Gama supposedly lived. We walked along the waterfront and saw fresh fish waiting to be sold. Our last stop on the “tour” was at a supermarket so people could get some snacks for the ship. Thence, we returned home, and concluded our time in India.

India: Travels between Chennai and Cochin

I cannot begin writing about my time between Chennai and Cochin without first thanking Preetha, the woman that made it all happen. A mere week before arriving in India, my mom made the connection that I would be visiting the region of India where Preetha, one of my mom’s coworkers, is from. With that spark Preetha and I emailed back and forth to set up transportation, accommodation, and places to visit. I know that I would not have had such a phenomenal experience if it had not been for her.

 

Two of the girls on the RIDE trip, two girls who had stayed in Chennai, and I planned to leave Chennai together the second night in India around the same time the ship returned to sea. However, one of the girls who had stayed in Chennai had gotten food poisoning and was completely unfit to travel. So we left with four: me, Abby, Bekah, and Andrea.

 

We met Prakash, Preetha’s uncle who lives in Chennai, outside the port. Walking out of the port was an experience, though. As I said earlier we were docked in an industrial port so everything was very hazy and dirty. We left the ship after dark so the fifteen minute walk to get to the entrance was illuminated by lights that glowed ominously. It almost felt as though we were walking through Inferno. Every once in awhile a truck would pass by, but other than that it was eerily quiet.

 

As soon as we reached the entrance, however, Prakash was waiting for us. He was extremely friendly, and he talked about his upcoming trip to America and his children. He said he had two children, one boy and one girl, and when I asked if they were friends he laughed and said, “No… they are worst enemies! The boy is quiet but the girl is ferocious!” He then went on to say that many girls are becoming more independent and outspoken, despite old customs.

 

Prakash showed us some sights, and we drove down a street that he called “one of the most beautiful in Chennai.” We saw the new government building which controls the state of Tamil Nadu. It was bright with lights, and Prakash told us that its inaugural day was tomorrow. Prakash then took us to dinner at a very nice private club, and ordered us some Indian food we hadn’t yet tried. One was a brownish color with some peas and spices that I thought was really tasty, and I also really enjoyed the paneer again. We ordered naan even though Prakash said it wasn’t traditional southern Indian food but it was still delicious. I have to say though the best naan I’ve ever had was at Tandoor in Lexington.

 

After dinner Prakash dropped us off at the train station where we were to travel overnight. He boarded the train and made sure we found our seats, and waited with us until it was time to go. We said our thanks and goodbyes and headed for Coimbatore.

 

The man who sat across from me was quiet at first but then we began talking and I realized that he had a lot to say. His name was Mr. Angou and he was a businessman who worked in making specialized steel parts in India and then selling them abroad in the states or Europe. He told me that recently due to the recession, combined with the growing Indian economy, he has been looking at selling his products in India. We also talked about his daughter, who was on a full scholarship to an international grade school in Singapore. Mr. Angou seemed to realize that his family would likely live all over the world, and accepted this with both sadness at the distance and happiness at the opportunities his children would have.

 

I also asked him about the differences he found between America and India. One of the things I remember him saying was about rudeness and traffic. He said that Americans were polite to each other on the roads but then when they got home they were mean to their family, whereas in India people are terrors on the roads but are always respectful to their family. I thought this was very interesting because first of all many Americans would not consider their traffic habits to be polite (by the way, American drivers are prim and proper compared to Indian traffic) and second of all I wondered about the types of experiences Mr. Angou had witnessed in the American home.

 

We arrived in Coimbatore around six, and Mr. Angou waited with us while we called Adhavaraj (whom we called Raj for short), a family friend of Preetha’s who worked in the tour business. Raj found us right away, and he led us to the car and our driver, Vijay, who would be with us for three days. We went straight to Preetha’s mother’s house in Coimbatore for breakfast. She had a lovely home on the second and third stories of a house in a very beautiful neighborhood. I was out on the balcony for a time and could see huge mountains in the distance. It was wonderful to meet her and have an opportunity to wash up and have breakfast before we left with Vijay for Coonoor, where Preetha’s sister-in-law lives.

 

The drive took about three hours, and went through several villages until the road plunged into the forest and began a steep ascent. Even though a couple of us had drifted off initially, it was impossible to sleep once we started climbing—the drastic turns with unexpected tour buses around the corner were enough to keep us wide awake. In addition, Vijay tried to pass whenever he could, honking to see if anyone was around the corner because we really couldn’t see anything. A few times I was sure that we would run head on into another car, but somehow we managed to squeak by. I asked Vijay if he had any Indian music and he put in a CD that soon became the anthem of our trip. Every once in awhile we would see a family of monkeys along the side of the road, and the combination of forest, monkeys, steep switchbacks, wind in our hair, and Indian music made for an epic car ride. As we got further up the mountain we could see tea plantations which looked like carpets of green blanketing the hills. Sometimes colorful villages perched precariously among the tea plantations, including Coonoor, our destination.

 

Coonoor was larger than the villages we passed but it was still a far cry from a city like Chennai. One of the unique things about Coonoor and the region we were in was that it did not allow plastic. So while the rest of India suffered from the pollution of plastic, the Nilgiri mountain area was virtually plastic free. The word Nilgiri means "blue moutains" and we learned that this name came from the fact that lots of eucalypses trees, whose leaves have a blue tint to them, used to be planted in the mountains. However, they consumed too much water so now tea plantations are dominant.

 

We reached Shridevi’s (Preetha’s sister-in-law) house after briefly getting lost and met her mother-in-law, a very old but charming woman. After a short introduction, we all piled back in the car. Shridevi is a general medicine doctor but often finds more usefulness in yoga and meditation than surgery and medication. She also runs a mobile medical van that visits remote hill stations that do not have a resident doctor several times a month.

 

Shridevi took us first to a tea factory, where we got to see, feel, and smell the tea in different stages of processing. The manager of the plant was her friend, so he led us around and explained each of the steps. Although most of the processing was done by machines, the tea plants themselves were still picked by people because the tea leaves have to be handled very carefully for the flavor to remain intact. In addition, tea flavors are influenced by soil content, elevation, and water, so that even the same plant could produce a completely different result depending on the season or elevation. Therefore, blenders use tea from different growers at different times of the year in order to achieve a uniform flavor. The tea factory we visited did not sell directly to the consumer; instead it sold to the middlemen blenders. Shridevi explained that since the tea market was not as profitable as before, many areas were turning to growing flowers. Sure enough, this plantation grew lilies and sold most of them in Bangalore, a city in south-central India. The air in the factory was rich with tea smell—not exactly the smell I was used to for tea, but more of a combination of woody and tea scents.

 

After touring the plantation we had lunch with the owner of the land. His house was situated with a glorious view of the lush mountains and also had unique flowers planted everywhere. In addition to the owner, we also ate with a visiting businessman. The two of them had a very interesting conversation because the owner was Hindu and the businessman was Muslim so they had a lively, but friendly, argument about some Muslim traditions. The Hindu questioned the Muslim traditions of covering women, while the Muslim man defended their traditions of humility. I felt lucky to be privy to this conversation, especially since it reaffirmed that these types of things could be talked about without any violent clashing.

 

We thanked the tea plantation owner and continued on our way. We traversed narrow dirt roads, with no guardrails of course, and arrived in a village high up in the mountains. We met a man with the kindest eyes I have ever seen who led us around his home. It was simple and compact, colorful but not tacky, and most of all, peaceful. The village had a Hindu temple at its center, and Shridevi explained some of the symbols of the structure to us. Several people followed us around the village, and we also visited the home of some of Shridevi’s friends. They insisted that we take tea, balanced with milk and sweetened with sugar. Shridevi explained that sugar was a sign of hospitality, and as a result a disproportionately high number of people living in the hill stations had diabetes.

 

Shridevi led us to a small building on the outskirts of the village. She explained that this was the site where a famous guru had meditated, so now people make pilgrimages to the place to meditate as well. We stopped to meditate, or at least sit peacefully, ourselves. While I don’t have the experience to really comment on the values of meditation, I did feel very at ease with the world sitting there. I don’t know if it was by the virtue of just relaxing, since so much of the trip has been nonstop action, but I did feel a different emotion than I had experienced so far on the trip.

 

After the village, we headed down the other side of the mountain to Mudumalai National Park. While we had experienced the moss-like covering of the mountain, this area was drier and browner, but really no less spectacular. In addition, if you can believe it (I hardly could), the hairpin turns were steeper and scarier. Before we began the descent, we passed a sign telling of all of the deaths and accidents of the previous three years. I remember that in 2008 fifty people died on the road. And I kid you not, some of the turns must have been at least 160 degrees.

 

When we finally got back to flat ground we were greeted with what I would think of as an African savannah—tall grass, small bushy vegetation, and the expectation that wild animals like elephants and tigers were lurking about. We checked into our hotel, the Blue Valley, but turned around shortly afterward because we were told that we could see the elephants. Sure enough, after a twenty minute drive we saw one. I gasped at the hugeness and gracefulness of the elephant, working side by side with an Indian villager. The elephant was moving logs with its huge tusks for the villager. Soon I realized that the elephant had a metal chain attached to its leg and I wondered about the true relationship between the villagers and the elephants, and whether the elephant suffered from its work. I kept quiet though, I think because I didn’t want to ruin the magic of seeing it move.

 

As dusk was settling, Vijay drove further into the reserve. The outlines of the trees were silhouetted by the glorious sunset, and the area seemed to be shrouded in a haze. However, we spotted a family of elephants: two babies and three adults. They were lumbering through the forest, slowly picking through the grass for food. They appeared as shadowy figures, and watching them glide around was truly spectacular.

 

Seeing the elephants reminded me of something I read about for class. It was an article comparing the progress of China and India. It said that while China’s growth appears fierce and smooth like a tiger, but its government masks underlying problems, India’s growth is clumsy and all out in the open as a democracy, like a stampeding elephant. But with my limited experience with elephants, I just saw their majesty and grace.

 

We had a satisfying dinner at the resort’s restaurant, which was steps away from our rooms. The restaurant was open and comfortable, and designed in a similar style to the rooms, which had high ceilings, brick walls, and thatched roofs. It was not ornate, and seemed appropriate for its setting in a mountain valley.

 

The next morning we left early for a safari. While we were waiting for the group to leave, an Indian family came up to us and insisted that we take lots of pictures with them. One woman in particular pinched our cheeks and then kissed her fingers, and was particularly taken with Bekah. One older man, who didn’t speak English, showed us pictures of people who were presumably his sons. Although we didn’t understand what he was saying, it was pretty clear that he was trying to set us up. In fact, they were so fascinated with us that you would think that they came to the wildlife reserve to see us, instead of the wild animals.

 

We boarded the bus which took us around for an hour. It was noteworthy more for its bumpy ride rather than its wildlife viewing, although we did see a water buffalo and a peacock very close to the bus. We also saw several monkeys swinging around in the trees, but overall things were very barren. There were clear indications that there had been a recent fire, although I don’t know if it was accidental or made on purpose. Shridevi explained that the area had been suffering from drought, and the park had in fact been closed a few weeks before and was closing again the day after we left. She told us we were very lucky girls, and I had to agree.

 

On the way back to the resort, we saw more elephants, maybe a half dozen, who were going down to drink and bathe at the water. They crossed the road so close to us, and were absolutely fascinating to watch. One man riding an elephant let us take pictures with him. Bekah was especially excited; it had been her childhood dream to see elephants so we were all really happy that she could fulfill it.

 

After breakfast and some relaxation time at the resort, we loaded into the car to go back up the mountains. It was still terrifying to go around those hairpin turns, though I didn’t involuntarily flinch at every single one any more. At the top of the mountain we boarded the Ooty sightseeing train and took it to Coonoor, where we met up with Shridevi and Vijay again. The train ride was beautiful, stopping at several mountain villages but mostly riding high above tea plantations. We shared the car with a family of three with a boy probably around seven and a couple from Bangalore who were all very nice. I worried sometimes that since we all were on one side of the car to see the views the train would tip over and tumble down the mountain. It was also funny to go through tunnels because the kids riding the train would yell as if we were on a roller coaster.

 

By the time we reached Coonoor, it was about time for lunch so Shridevi took us to a restaurant in Coonoor. I remember enjoying the somewhat spicy prawn dish, and trying Indian ice cream, which was incredibly creamy and delicious. After lunch we all returned to Shridevi’s house. We met Shridevi’s husband, and reunited with his mother. Shridevi showed us albums of her daughter’s Indian dance performance and wedding. The sari’s for both occasions were gorgeous, as were the dance movements. Shridevi explained that every position held a different meaning, and every part of the body had to be exactly controlled. We also looked at atlases to see both where we had been on our trip and to show Shridevi where we were from in America. Abby was from northern California, Bekah was from Connecticut, and Andrea was from Vermont. It was amazing just to remind ourselves again where we had come from and all of the places we had seen. Shridevi’s brother-in-law also visited. He works in Dubai for an oil refinery but because of the health implications of his job he gets several months off a year to return to Coonoor and enjoy the clean air there. Shridevi explained to me later that many high-paying jobs exist in Dubai but Indians have to decide if working there is worth the lower education for their children and the separation from their home country.

 

Too soon, we had to leave Coonoor to return to Coimbatore in time for dinner. Shridevi had to take her car to be inspected, so Bekah and Abby rode with Vijay while Andrea and I joined Shridevi in her car. Shridevi was a much more conservative driver than Vijay, and it was nice to not have to grip on to the sides of the car the whole way down. But most of all, I enjoyed talking to Shridevi about issues I had rolling around in my head since I had arrived in India. I asked her about the caste system, which she thought should be abolished completely, about the role of women in India, about how Indians are responding to global warming, and about what I can possibly do to help people after everything that I have seen. Shridevi asked two things of me.

 

First, she said that when I establish myself and have extra money, I should mentor a child from a poorer background, and give them the tools that I had to help them raise themselves into a higher position. Shridevi said she had “adopted” seven or eight of these children, and the oldest were currently attending college and were finding people to marry. She said that at first she hesitated telling people about everything she was doing but recently she has realized that the best way to help the world as a whole is to spread the word and encourage people to do good works.

 

Her second request of me was to wake up every morning with the idea that I am a mother to the earth. I asked her what she meant by this and she said (approximately) “A mother loves unconditionally, even if her child does a terrible wrong. A mother can always forgive her children. We must forgive the earth for its past mistakes and everyone in it. With this love, we can finally have peace around the world.”

 

I loved hearing this kind and wise woman talk, and soon we were back in Coimbatore. After a quick stop we went out to look at saris and eat. We were joined by Raj and his wife, who we learned was three months pregnant. They looked very happy together and Raj’s wife was glowing. She had jasmine flowers in her hair which smelled amazing, and due to my enthusiasm of them Raj bought us each some jasmine flowers to put in our own hair. We ate at a restaurant and ordered these thin buttery things, I forget now what they are called. Some of them were twisted into the shape of a cone birthday hat. They reminded me of crepes, but were eaten with spicy food.

 

After dinner we returned to Preetha’s mother’s house. Her mother really was too generous and bought us all clothes to take back to America. Before bed, Shridevi taught us some breathing exercises. She was very practiced in meditation and woke every morning at 3:30 to meditate for two hours, and then meditated again around lunchtime and in the evening. She gave us a DVD about yoga and meditation from a famous guru, and also told me about a center in Nashville that she suggested I visit. After this we went to sleep, to wake up at four in order to meet up with the ship when it arrived in Cochin the next morning.

 

We said early goodbyes to Preetha’s mother and Shridevi, and headed to Cochin with Vijay. I tried but didn’t succeed in sleeping, but was fully awake, albeit groggy with experiences, when we arrived at the ship. After some confusion trying to figure out where to go for customs and immigration, we said goodbye to Vijay and embarked the ship. Vijay left us with something to remember him by—his Indian music CD.