I think Henry Wadsworth Longfellow might have put how I'm feeling into words.
"The heights by great men reached and kept / were not attained by sudden flight / But they, while their companions slept / Were toiling upward in the night"
I don't sleep anymore. I haven't slept since traveling through Africa, really, and I wish I were exaggerating. It's been seven exact days since I arrived back in America, and it feels as if I never left. It's this odd sensation between extreme exhaustion and a craving to keep myself busy because I don't have the time to be sad. I find that the busier I am, the less I think about the countries, the people I left behind. There is no time for depression or reminiscence or living in my head. There is no time.
So, I am working two jobs and taking decently difficult english and psychology courses to keep myself in mental shape, or at least to keep me from having a sappy breakdown. But who can overload themselves on work when all they want to do is sleepsleepsleep? I stare longingly at my pillow, my comforter, and wish I could just rest my head instead of reading five more chapters of Sherwood Anderson. I wish I could replay every single second of my summer while standing under the flowing amazingness of a hot shower for more than fifteen minutes. I wish I had time.
When I do have time, I find myself zoning out like a zombie on some sort of mellow downer. It's kind of ridiculous. I can't focus properly. I think I might be burnt out.
...
So, I am in need of a nice body massage and five days worth of sleep, but life will be life, and we will all carry on. I will set aside my zombie-esque stares and shake myself out of those dazed, exhausted stupors and get to work. There will come a day, hopefully sooner rather than later, where I will have the time to look back at my summer and nod my head, knowing that it was so insane, so amazing, so incredibly worth every penny I saved up for it. But right now, right now I think I might take my pillow up on its offer of semi-sleep, and give in to the night while I still have the energy to crawl into my bed.
G'night, folks. Sleep well.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
"Amazing", and everything else that's not coming out of my mouth.
Here I sit, in a Virginia hotel, watching the thunderstorm from my bed and trying to look objectively at my summer. I stare at pictures in disbelief, pictures that I took in places like Venice, and Istanbul, and Cairo. I've been doing double-takes and rubbing my eyes profusely trying to slap some sense into myself that this summer actually happened. It's absurd.
I've been crying and hugging and struggling with at least 10 pieces of carry-on luggage all morning, and here I sit in complete awe. I can't get over it. You know those dreams you wake up from in the middle of the night, the ones that seem so real but are too good to be true? This trip is like that for me right now.
I'm trying so hard to clear my head and make sense of it all. Compartmentalizing it in my head is not working, and these countries flew by so fast that if I blink, it could have not happened. I could have been working odd jobs all summer, like I did last summer. I could have stayed at home, wondering about internships and devouring novels by the week. But I moved out of my comfort zone and stepped foot on a ship with 700 other students from all over the world. And I'm in shock.
I am having the hardest time trying to figure out what to tell my family, my friends, should they ask the dreaded question: How was your summer?
...Silence. I have no idea what to say. I'm rendered speechless. The answer that comes to mind is, "Amazing." But of course that doesn't cover even one of the places I stepped foot in. Amazing doesn't begin to describe the majesty of the pyramids, or the depth of the Adriatic Sea. Amazing doesn't cover the sunrise from Mt. Sinai, or the heart-piercing beauty of Venice. So, what kind of answer could sum my summer up?
Even my closest friends are not going to want to sit through 2,000 pictures of adventures and people they don't know. They aren't going to have the attention span to listen to my millions and millions of stories. They don't care. So, how do I put into words an experience so precious to me, this voyage of discovery and humbleness? Can I even describe it at all, to anyone who wasn't experiencing this with me?
I guess I'll find out. I'm afraid that I will have to hold everything in until it just bubbles up from my heart and spews out of my mouth in exhausted excitement to anyone within ear shot. I can't hold it all in, but I can't explain it. Not well enough, and not nearly enough at all. I'm backed into this corner of my own making, and anything that I do end up telling people won't do my experiences justice.
But I'm going to try. I'm going to use rusty words like "Brilliant", "Magnificent" and "Awe-Inspiring". I'm going to try my hardest to explain what I felt in my heart at each moment during this voyage, in countries and on the ship. The least I can do is try.
I've been crying and hugging and struggling with at least 10 pieces of carry-on luggage all morning, and here I sit in complete awe. I can't get over it. You know those dreams you wake up from in the middle of the night, the ones that seem so real but are too good to be true? This trip is like that for me right now.
I'm trying so hard to clear my head and make sense of it all. Compartmentalizing it in my head is not working, and these countries flew by so fast that if I blink, it could have not happened. I could have been working odd jobs all summer, like I did last summer. I could have stayed at home, wondering about internships and devouring novels by the week. But I moved out of my comfort zone and stepped foot on a ship with 700 other students from all over the world. And I'm in shock.
I am having the hardest time trying to figure out what to tell my family, my friends, should they ask the dreaded question: How was your summer?
...Silence. I have no idea what to say. I'm rendered speechless. The answer that comes to mind is, "Amazing." But of course that doesn't cover even one of the places I stepped foot in. Amazing doesn't begin to describe the majesty of the pyramids, or the depth of the Adriatic Sea. Amazing doesn't cover the sunrise from Mt. Sinai, or the heart-piercing beauty of Venice. So, what kind of answer could sum my summer up?
Even my closest friends are not going to want to sit through 2,000 pictures of adventures and people they don't know. They aren't going to have the attention span to listen to my millions and millions of stories. They don't care. So, how do I put into words an experience so precious to me, this voyage of discovery and humbleness? Can I even describe it at all, to anyone who wasn't experiencing this with me?
I guess I'll find out. I'm afraid that I will have to hold everything in until it just bubbles up from my heart and spews out of my mouth in exhausted excitement to anyone within ear shot. I can't hold it all in, but I can't explain it. Not well enough, and not nearly enough at all. I'm backed into this corner of my own making, and anything that I do end up telling people won't do my experiences justice.
But I'm going to try. I'm going to use rusty words like "Brilliant", "Magnificent" and "Awe-Inspiring". I'm going to try my hardest to explain what I felt in my heart at each moment during this voyage, in countries and on the ship. The least I can do is try.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Falling Stars
I leaned my head back against the faculty lounge window, and tried to pick out constellations, to no avail. Michelle and Emily lay beside me, quietly contemplating whatever people contemplate when they look into the faces of stars. The ocean and sky take on a whole new aura when the moon comes out, and I silently scolded myself for not noticing earlier.
The black waves lit up as the moon shimmered, and I wondered aloud if the people at home would look at the same stars four hours later. I felt so relaxed, so peaceful. The waves made a slapping sound against the ship, always restless and unrelenting. I took the pick from my pocket and began to strum my Bouzouki. I picked Titanic, of course. I surely have mastered it by now.
I glimpsed at the sky, and Emily and I sucked in our breath at the same time. A falling star traveled across the open sky and disappeared.
“Quick, make a wish!” She laughed.
And so I did.
The faculty lounge was reflecting oranges and blues and greens off of my glasses, and I turned around to peek in the window. I couldn’t help my obnoxious outburst of laughter. Michelle and Emily turned to peek in the window, too. The faculty must have been having some kind of disco party in the lounge because the bar was full and the center of the lounge had turned into a dance floor. We watched our professors flail their arms and kick their legs and gyrate their hips in ways that no hips should ever gyrate.
“Emily isn’t that your dad?” I giggled.
“No, that’s Liz’s dad!”
“He’s dancing with my mom!” Michelle’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth.
We were talking about our adopted parents, of course. I felt as if I were fourteen and watching a dirty movie. We giggled and threw ourselves on the ground below the panoramic window when we thought a faculty member was looking over at us. Then we would pop our heads up to sneak another peek. It was truly fantastical.
I took my Bouzouki in my arms and began to play Titanic again. Michelle and Emily lay back down. I watched another star fall from the sky and disappear, listening to the waves splash and the faint sound of 80’s rap that seeped through the windows.
It was a glorious night.
The black waves lit up as the moon shimmered, and I wondered aloud if the people at home would look at the same stars four hours later. I felt so relaxed, so peaceful. The waves made a slapping sound against the ship, always restless and unrelenting. I took the pick from my pocket and began to strum my Bouzouki. I picked Titanic, of course. I surely have mastered it by now.
I glimpsed at the sky, and Emily and I sucked in our breath at the same time. A falling star traveled across the open sky and disappeared.
“Quick, make a wish!” She laughed.
And so I did.
The faculty lounge was reflecting oranges and blues and greens off of my glasses, and I turned around to peek in the window. I couldn’t help my obnoxious outburst of laughter. Michelle and Emily turned to peek in the window, too. The faculty must have been having some kind of disco party in the lounge because the bar was full and the center of the lounge had turned into a dance floor. We watched our professors flail their arms and kick their legs and gyrate their hips in ways that no hips should ever gyrate.
“Emily isn’t that your dad?” I giggled.
“No, that’s Liz’s dad!”
“He’s dancing with my mom!” Michelle’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth.
We were talking about our adopted parents, of course. I felt as if I were fourteen and watching a dirty movie. We giggled and threw ourselves on the ground below the panoramic window when we thought a faculty member was looking over at us. Then we would pop our heads up to sneak another peek. It was truly fantastical.
I took my Bouzouki in my arms and began to play Titanic again. Michelle and Emily lay back down. I watched another star fall from the sky and disappear, listening to the waves splash and the faint sound of 80’s rap that seeped through the windows.
It was a glorious night.
Just a little bug bite.
On the last day in Morocco, I stood on the 7th Deck with Paul, Michelle, Liz, Emily, and many other SASer’s, waving goodbye to land for ten days. People were snapping “jumping” photos, and others wore sad faces to show how much they were going to miss country-hoppin’.
I didn’t have an expression on my face. I wasn’t smiling, or frowning, or talking to anyone. I just stood there, mesmerized by the ship’s horn blowing us away from Morocco’s port, away from all the countries we traveled to in the last 2 months. I couldn’t stop staring at the water, at land, wondering if I would ever be back. Wondering if this trip was truly a once-in-a-lifetime whim or if I would make a career out of seeing the world.
I stood there expressionless, trying to pinpoint the first time I felt normal on this trip, as if sailing to a million countries was normal, and it took me a while, but I came up with an answer to my own question. Croatia. I finally felt normal in Croatia, the 3rd country on our itinerary.
Foreign currency was no longer weird paper from the game of Monopoly, but something that I would get used to exchanging in every place. Spanish, Italian, and Grecian Euros, Croatian Kuna (Weasels), Bulgarian Lev, Romanian Lei, Turkish Lira, Egyptian Pounds, and Moroccan Durham. I still have a little of each, and it all seems to blend, every bit of it.
It was in Croatia that language barriers stopped bothering me. I began to learn Spanish, Italian, Croatian, Turkish, Kurdish, and Arabic. I learned the basics, like “Hello,” and “Bathroom, please?” Of course, I don’t remember any of these languages, except a little Italian like, “Ciao, Bella!” but I was able to get myself around after Croatia, and I no longer worried myself into a frenzy wondering whether or not it was okay to use hand gestures when conversing.
Croatia brought me out of my shell, out of my introverted, meek shell and into the world of “just do it, because there may not be another chance”. I stopped worrying about offending people, because people are always going to be offended about something. I talked to people, really began talking to people, because I missed out on this in Spain. I was intimidated in Spain, but no longer in Croatia.
That was the turning point for me on this trip; I started to have fun, let loose, encountering the cultures instead of backing away from them. I don’t regret any experience I had, really. I believe that everything on this trip happened for a reason, and I don’t think I’d change much. There are a million things I want to go back and do in each country, but I think I had my fair share of fun in each. I learned so much.
So, I stood on the 7th deck with my friends, watching as the MV Explorer moved farther and farther away from Morocco, and I finally smiled. I was a traveler. I am a traveler. And that kind of thing just doesn’t go away.
I guess you might say I was bit by the wanderlust bug, and that kind of bite doesn’t really disappear. It scars. People cover it up with work schedules and families and “settling down”, but I don’t ever want to throw away my wanderlust. It’s who I am.
I am a traveler, and I don’t think I waved goodbye to the world forever, no, not forever. I will be back. I shall be back.
I didn’t have an expression on my face. I wasn’t smiling, or frowning, or talking to anyone. I just stood there, mesmerized by the ship’s horn blowing us away from Morocco’s port, away from all the countries we traveled to in the last 2 months. I couldn’t stop staring at the water, at land, wondering if I would ever be back. Wondering if this trip was truly a once-in-a-lifetime whim or if I would make a career out of seeing the world.
I stood there expressionless, trying to pinpoint the first time I felt normal on this trip, as if sailing to a million countries was normal, and it took me a while, but I came up with an answer to my own question. Croatia. I finally felt normal in Croatia, the 3rd country on our itinerary.
Foreign currency was no longer weird paper from the game of Monopoly, but something that I would get used to exchanging in every place. Spanish, Italian, and Grecian Euros, Croatian Kuna (Weasels), Bulgarian Lev, Romanian Lei, Turkish Lira, Egyptian Pounds, and Moroccan Durham. I still have a little of each, and it all seems to blend, every bit of it.
It was in Croatia that language barriers stopped bothering me. I began to learn Spanish, Italian, Croatian, Turkish, Kurdish, and Arabic. I learned the basics, like “Hello,” and “Bathroom, please?” Of course, I don’t remember any of these languages, except a little Italian like, “Ciao, Bella!” but I was able to get myself around after Croatia, and I no longer worried myself into a frenzy wondering whether or not it was okay to use hand gestures when conversing.
Croatia brought me out of my shell, out of my introverted, meek shell and into the world of “just do it, because there may not be another chance”. I stopped worrying about offending people, because people are always going to be offended about something. I talked to people, really began talking to people, because I missed out on this in Spain. I was intimidated in Spain, but no longer in Croatia.
That was the turning point for me on this trip; I started to have fun, let loose, encountering the cultures instead of backing away from them. I don’t regret any experience I had, really. I believe that everything on this trip happened for a reason, and I don’t think I’d change much. There are a million things I want to go back and do in each country, but I think I had my fair share of fun in each. I learned so much.
So, I stood on the 7th deck with my friends, watching as the MV Explorer moved farther and farther away from Morocco, and I finally smiled. I was a traveler. I am a traveler. And that kind of thing just doesn’t go away.
I guess you might say I was bit by the wanderlust bug, and that kind of bite doesn’t really disappear. It scars. People cover it up with work schedules and families and “settling down”, but I don’t ever want to throw away my wanderlust. It’s who I am.
I am a traveler, and I don’t think I waved goodbye to the world forever, no, not forever. I will be back. I shall be back.
Morocco Days 1, 2, 3, and 4 ((Hot Fez))
Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve last written, and we’ve been back at sea for a few days now, but I still haven’t written anything about Morocco yet. It’s because I’m both very busy with finals and essays, and the simple fact that I’m still not sure how to put into words what I experienced.
I wanted to just write a nice satire about my experience, but I don’t think I can handle it. I’ve had three essays due in the last two days, and I have my Global final coming up, which I haven’t been studying for at all. It’s a lose-lose situation. But. Before I bog you down with the dirty, hand-cramped details, I want to at least bullet-point Morocco. Bullets won’t do it justice, but I’ll give it my best shot.
Morocco (in the most truthful of bullet-points I can possibly muster)
Ø I purchased an SAS trip to Marrakech, the Sahara desert, and the Atlas Mountains for the entirety of Morocco…this was my first mistake. I should have stuck with planning, or lack thereof, my own adventures…
Ø This trip consisted of about 192.4 SAS students/faculty/lifelong learners, which ended up being one of the biggest trips during this entire voyage. With an amazon group like this, something is bound to happen, right? I tried to mentally prepare myself…
Ø We all got split up between 14 different vans, and I placed myself in a group full of, well, to put it mildly, a few SASholes.
Ø During the 3.5 hour drive to Marrakech, we realized that a) our van seemed to lack air-conditioning… and the windows in our van did not seem to push out like other van windows did.
Ø Our driver blasted the Moroccan tunes, which I loved, but grew to hate because I think he played the same song over and over and over and over and over.
Ø Our group quickly resorted to singing Girl Scout songs and 100 bottles of beer in the van...and Billy got everyone to agree on the group name of “Hot Fez”. Shall I explain the joke? Fez is a city in Morocco, and it’s a take after the movie “Hot Fuzz”. Better?
Ø I felt like I was back on an elementary school field trip, which was actually kind of amusing. There were fifteen of us in this stuffy, cramped van belting out 90’s songs like no one was watching, and then making up a chant and count off for our newly acquired group… We would each say our number (I was 12), and then we would chant, “Hot Fez, Hot Fez, ya ya ya…” and then we would do the South African catcall… it was the most absurd, obnoxious, hilarious, tiresome thing I’ve encountered in a long time. And everyone participated, which was a miracle in and of itself.
Ø We arrived to Marrakech for lunch, and proceeded to eat lunch, which I did not eat much of. I was still getting over my Traveler’s Diarrhea.
Ø Then all 192ish of us checked into this hotel, which we thought would be amazing based on the really nice, marbled lobby and beautiful architecture.
Ø And then we got to our rooms. Michelle and I’s room was not that bad, actually. Our bathroom was extremely grungy, but that was about it. Emily and Lindsey and Paul came bursting into our room after about ten minutes, and they were all yelling and laughing about something. Apparently, Emily’s bed had blood stains in it (we saw pictures of proof), and their toilet would not flush, which I found quite humorous.
Ø Paul was having a nervous breakdown because of the heat and exhaustion, and he ended up laughing so hard that he grabbed a hold of our curtains and ripped them right from the window, which we all went into hysterics about. It was one big hysterics-fest, filled with sweat and tears and uncontrollable giggling.
Ø Then all the SASer’s met in the lobby to go to a “Fantasia folk show with dinner”. It was laughable. We went to this really nice palace-like place, which said it was the “Disney of Morocco”. Then we watched the horse “show” which consisted of men in tights galloping on the horses and firing off their guns. I think by the time the show was over, I was deaf and stupid.
Ø We went back to the hotel, and slept off the gun shots and ridiculous men.
Ø Michelle’s alarm went off at 5:45AM the following morning, and I rose to take a shower in the grimy bathroom, and when I got out, I think I might have felt dirtier than before I got in.
Ø It was going to take a rough 7.5 hours to drive from Marrakech to the Sahara… which we all dreaded because no one could switch vans. Which meant only one thing to Hot Fez; no air-conditioning in the pure desert heat for most of the day.
Ø We all switched seats off and on and tried to limit our Ipod consumption because we knew we would all run out of music battery before this trip was over.
Ø I ended up sprawled like a starfish on the luggage in the back, just to stretch out my legs. People took turns laying in the dirty aisle way of the van…
Ø We looked inside the other vans during our lunch break, and our eyes widened when we saw that every other van felt icy cold from the air conditioning, and had enough leg room between each row of seats to completely sprawl out, as needed. We also found out that many of the other vans were not filled to full passenger capacity… some only carried 7 or so people, when we had the smallest, smelliest van that carried 15 people, not including the driver. I think we all wanted to bawl and start a riot by this point.
Ø We ate lunch in the middle of nowhere at this restaurant that was hotter than our van, which made me want to lie down and die.
Ø We stopped at a rest stop sort of place that was part creepy diner, part snack stand because our van had to use the bathroom. So I waited and waited and waited and waited in line for my turn because I had to go so very bad and finally burst through the wooden door with urgency as soon as the last person came out.
Ø … it was like something out of a backwoods horror flick. There was no toilet, only a hole. So, out of panic and exhaustion, I ripped off my pants completely and tried to pee in the hole. This did not work at all. I have never wished to be a boy before, but at that moment, I wanted nothing more. I waddled out of the wooden stall, and asked to borrow someone’s hand sanitizer to not only clean my hands, but my legs and feet as well. It was the epitome of disgusting.
Ø We hopped back in the van and drove to this little Berber village that actually had a grocery store. All 195ish of the SASer’s bought vodka and beer and wine by the gallon. This should have been the first clue as to how the night was going to end up, but I didn’t think much of it then.
Ø We eventually made it to the outskirts of the Sahara 4 hours after our stop at the village, and we all rolled out of the van peeved and hot and ready for a cold shower. Sand blew into my mouth and eyes the moment I stepped out, and I tried to shield them both with a head scarf of Billy’s that I had made into a nice turban. It did not work.
Ø We hopped on our camels (some rode two to a camel, including Michelle and I), and we made the 1 hour trek to our nomad camp. We passed by these random closets of houses, with five or six dirty children standing around, staring at us. I felt so awful.
Ø Our camp, once we made it there, was actually very nicely set up and pretty sweet to stay in. We were in the middle of the desert, with about 100 angry camels and 10 men in turbans and long white dresses who I assumed to be the nomads. There were about 4 rows of tents, each sleeping 6 people, with little cots for beds, a wool blanket on each.
Ø We sat on the rugs, which blanketed the sand, and watched these men sing and dance and play instruments for us in the blazing heat as the sun slowly set.
Ø We ate our dinner, kind of, and then around 10pm, none of the people in our tent (me, Emily, Paul, Eric, Alex) could keep our eyes open, so we fell into our cots and stuck immediately to the wool blankets. I felt so dirty and sticky and grimy…and the heat was a little more than unbearable. We wondered when it would get cold… so I slept with my jacket on, zipped all the way up to my neck, with my hood up in fear that things might crawl over me while I was sleeping. I am sometimes paranoid about these things. Scarabs, sand fleas…you just never know.
Ø The beating drums and singing continued until midnight, so we were all laying there talking for about two hours, thinking that now we could finally close our eyes for good.
Ø And it was a big joke, maybe the biggest joke of all, to think that we were going to sleep that night. The SAS party, apparently, had just gotten started. Just as I was about to drift off, I heard drunk girls and guys going at it in the next tent over…then people were arguing, and saying things like, “F you”, “No, F you”, and people were screaming from other tents, “Well, why don’t you both just F and get it over with already!” and I don’t think I’ve ever heard such vulgarity in my entire life more than the kind of stuff I heard that night.
Ø This continued until 5 in the morning, and the camels started mooing at 6am sharp. I opened my eyes only to realize I hadn’t slept, and I was livid. Well, as livid as I could be with the kind of urgent exhaustion I felt.
Ø We all woke up and brushed our teeth with bottled water, spitting the sand out of our mouths into the dirt. Then I changed clothes, which probably wasn’t necessary, and put on some deodorant, and Michelle and I shared a camel once again to make the hour trek back to our heat-stroke van.
Ø It was not the kind of trip I thought it was going to be, to say the least. Five students got expelled from Semester at Sea for behaving in such a drunken, vulgar manner, and they are still stuck on the ship with us, but the credits for their classes will not transfer, and it will show up on their records that they were expelled from the program. I think they certainly deserved what they got, the SASholes.
Ø After fifteen minutes of riding in the van, my Ipod died and I was left to either sleep or stare out the window into the sand dunes and dust. I opted for staring out the window, because I don’t sleep on moving vehicles very well at all.
Ø For 4 hours, I stared out the window at the winding deserts and the beautiful majesty of the Atlas Mountains, and we stopped at a small Berber store, which is where I ended up falling in love. The drum I fell in love with is an authentic African Jembe made with a camel skin top, and it plays beautifully. I bought it on the spot, and smiled for the remaining 3.5 hours back to the hotel.
Ø We all ended up switching hotel rooms because we had to check out and re-check in for a second time…and just guess which room Michelle and I ended up in because we are just that amazing? The blood-stained, non-flushing toilet room. We practically shared a bed to not have to suffer with the nastiness. It was very foul.
Ø That night, we had some free time in Marrakech to shop at the famous Bazaar. ((Side note: on the very first day in Marrakech, before we checked into our hotel the first time, I ended up getting henna done on my right hand, and I don’t think the woman who did it could have ripped me off anymore than she did. I don’t want to talk about it.)
Ø So, a bunch of us hopped in a taxi and shopped in the Bazaar until almost 1am…then we took a horse and buggy back to the hotel, which would have been relaxing had there not been 7 people shoved on each other’s laps in the 4-person fitting buggy.
Ø We woke up the next morning, and then made the 3.5 hour trek back to the ship, weary, still exhausted, and very crabby.
Well, I’m sure I left out many important details, but you get the gist of the story. It was kind of a miserable trip, and we all can laugh about it now that it’s over and we don’t have to sit in the Hot Fez van ever, ever again. Everyone who went on the trip pretty much agreed that it was both hilariously absurd and painfully awful, and the people who didn’t even go on the trip are still talking about it, re-telling stories that their friends told them, etcetera.
I guess one of the vans stopped to pick up a hitchhiker along the way to the Sahara and then dropped the hitchhiker off after an hour of confusion. I can only guess how that story got recycled on the ship. Another van passed by three dead bodies on the side of the Atlas Mountains just as the police were covering them up with white sheets. We all experienced something different, and it was certainly a bond-worthy experience.
Can I just say that I’m glad to be out of the Sahara? Good grief.
I wanted to just write a nice satire about my experience, but I don’t think I can handle it. I’ve had three essays due in the last two days, and I have my Global final coming up, which I haven’t been studying for at all. It’s a lose-lose situation. But. Before I bog you down with the dirty, hand-cramped details, I want to at least bullet-point Morocco. Bullets won’t do it justice, but I’ll give it my best shot.
Morocco (in the most truthful of bullet-points I can possibly muster)
Ø I purchased an SAS trip to Marrakech, the Sahara desert, and the Atlas Mountains for the entirety of Morocco…this was my first mistake. I should have stuck with planning, or lack thereof, my own adventures…
Ø This trip consisted of about 192.4 SAS students/faculty/lifelong learners, which ended up being one of the biggest trips during this entire voyage. With an amazon group like this, something is bound to happen, right? I tried to mentally prepare myself…
Ø We all got split up between 14 different vans, and I placed myself in a group full of, well, to put it mildly, a few SASholes.
Ø During the 3.5 hour drive to Marrakech, we realized that a) our van seemed to lack air-conditioning… and the windows in our van did not seem to push out like other van windows did.
Ø Our driver blasted the Moroccan tunes, which I loved, but grew to hate because I think he played the same song over and over and over and over and over.
Ø Our group quickly resorted to singing Girl Scout songs and 100 bottles of beer in the van...and Billy got everyone to agree on the group name of “Hot Fez”. Shall I explain the joke? Fez is a city in Morocco, and it’s a take after the movie “Hot Fuzz”. Better?
Ø I felt like I was back on an elementary school field trip, which was actually kind of amusing. There were fifteen of us in this stuffy, cramped van belting out 90’s songs like no one was watching, and then making up a chant and count off for our newly acquired group… We would each say our number (I was 12), and then we would chant, “Hot Fez, Hot Fez, ya ya ya…” and then we would do the South African catcall… it was the most absurd, obnoxious, hilarious, tiresome thing I’ve encountered in a long time. And everyone participated, which was a miracle in and of itself.
Ø We arrived to Marrakech for lunch, and proceeded to eat lunch, which I did not eat much of. I was still getting over my Traveler’s Diarrhea.
Ø Then all 192ish of us checked into this hotel, which we thought would be amazing based on the really nice, marbled lobby and beautiful architecture.
Ø And then we got to our rooms. Michelle and I’s room was not that bad, actually. Our bathroom was extremely grungy, but that was about it. Emily and Lindsey and Paul came bursting into our room after about ten minutes, and they were all yelling and laughing about something. Apparently, Emily’s bed had blood stains in it (we saw pictures of proof), and their toilet would not flush, which I found quite humorous.
Ø Paul was having a nervous breakdown because of the heat and exhaustion, and he ended up laughing so hard that he grabbed a hold of our curtains and ripped them right from the window, which we all went into hysterics about. It was one big hysterics-fest, filled with sweat and tears and uncontrollable giggling.
Ø Then all the SASer’s met in the lobby to go to a “Fantasia folk show with dinner”. It was laughable. We went to this really nice palace-like place, which said it was the “Disney of Morocco”. Then we watched the horse “show” which consisted of men in tights galloping on the horses and firing off their guns. I think by the time the show was over, I was deaf and stupid.
Ø We went back to the hotel, and slept off the gun shots and ridiculous men.
Ø Michelle’s alarm went off at 5:45AM the following morning, and I rose to take a shower in the grimy bathroom, and when I got out, I think I might have felt dirtier than before I got in.
Ø It was going to take a rough 7.5 hours to drive from Marrakech to the Sahara… which we all dreaded because no one could switch vans. Which meant only one thing to Hot Fez; no air-conditioning in the pure desert heat for most of the day.
Ø We all switched seats off and on and tried to limit our Ipod consumption because we knew we would all run out of music battery before this trip was over.
Ø I ended up sprawled like a starfish on the luggage in the back, just to stretch out my legs. People took turns laying in the dirty aisle way of the van…
Ø We looked inside the other vans during our lunch break, and our eyes widened when we saw that every other van felt icy cold from the air conditioning, and had enough leg room between each row of seats to completely sprawl out, as needed. We also found out that many of the other vans were not filled to full passenger capacity… some only carried 7 or so people, when we had the smallest, smelliest van that carried 15 people, not including the driver. I think we all wanted to bawl and start a riot by this point.
Ø We ate lunch in the middle of nowhere at this restaurant that was hotter than our van, which made me want to lie down and die.
Ø We stopped at a rest stop sort of place that was part creepy diner, part snack stand because our van had to use the bathroom. So I waited and waited and waited and waited in line for my turn because I had to go so very bad and finally burst through the wooden door with urgency as soon as the last person came out.
Ø … it was like something out of a backwoods horror flick. There was no toilet, only a hole. So, out of panic and exhaustion, I ripped off my pants completely and tried to pee in the hole. This did not work at all. I have never wished to be a boy before, but at that moment, I wanted nothing more. I waddled out of the wooden stall, and asked to borrow someone’s hand sanitizer to not only clean my hands, but my legs and feet as well. It was the epitome of disgusting.
Ø We hopped back in the van and drove to this little Berber village that actually had a grocery store. All 195ish of the SASer’s bought vodka and beer and wine by the gallon. This should have been the first clue as to how the night was going to end up, but I didn’t think much of it then.
Ø We eventually made it to the outskirts of the Sahara 4 hours after our stop at the village, and we all rolled out of the van peeved and hot and ready for a cold shower. Sand blew into my mouth and eyes the moment I stepped out, and I tried to shield them both with a head scarf of Billy’s that I had made into a nice turban. It did not work.
Ø We hopped on our camels (some rode two to a camel, including Michelle and I), and we made the 1 hour trek to our nomad camp. We passed by these random closets of houses, with five or six dirty children standing around, staring at us. I felt so awful.
Ø Our camp, once we made it there, was actually very nicely set up and pretty sweet to stay in. We were in the middle of the desert, with about 100 angry camels and 10 men in turbans and long white dresses who I assumed to be the nomads. There were about 4 rows of tents, each sleeping 6 people, with little cots for beds, a wool blanket on each.
Ø We sat on the rugs, which blanketed the sand, and watched these men sing and dance and play instruments for us in the blazing heat as the sun slowly set.
Ø We ate our dinner, kind of, and then around 10pm, none of the people in our tent (me, Emily, Paul, Eric, Alex) could keep our eyes open, so we fell into our cots and stuck immediately to the wool blankets. I felt so dirty and sticky and grimy…and the heat was a little more than unbearable. We wondered when it would get cold… so I slept with my jacket on, zipped all the way up to my neck, with my hood up in fear that things might crawl over me while I was sleeping. I am sometimes paranoid about these things. Scarabs, sand fleas…you just never know.
Ø The beating drums and singing continued until midnight, so we were all laying there talking for about two hours, thinking that now we could finally close our eyes for good.
Ø And it was a big joke, maybe the biggest joke of all, to think that we were going to sleep that night. The SAS party, apparently, had just gotten started. Just as I was about to drift off, I heard drunk girls and guys going at it in the next tent over…then people were arguing, and saying things like, “F you”, “No, F you”, and people were screaming from other tents, “Well, why don’t you both just F and get it over with already!” and I don’t think I’ve ever heard such vulgarity in my entire life more than the kind of stuff I heard that night.
Ø This continued until 5 in the morning, and the camels started mooing at 6am sharp. I opened my eyes only to realize I hadn’t slept, and I was livid. Well, as livid as I could be with the kind of urgent exhaustion I felt.
Ø We all woke up and brushed our teeth with bottled water, spitting the sand out of our mouths into the dirt. Then I changed clothes, which probably wasn’t necessary, and put on some deodorant, and Michelle and I shared a camel once again to make the hour trek back to our heat-stroke van.
Ø It was not the kind of trip I thought it was going to be, to say the least. Five students got expelled from Semester at Sea for behaving in such a drunken, vulgar manner, and they are still stuck on the ship with us, but the credits for their classes will not transfer, and it will show up on their records that they were expelled from the program. I think they certainly deserved what they got, the SASholes.
Ø After fifteen minutes of riding in the van, my Ipod died and I was left to either sleep or stare out the window into the sand dunes and dust. I opted for staring out the window, because I don’t sleep on moving vehicles very well at all.
Ø For 4 hours, I stared out the window at the winding deserts and the beautiful majesty of the Atlas Mountains, and we stopped at a small Berber store, which is where I ended up falling in love. The drum I fell in love with is an authentic African Jembe made with a camel skin top, and it plays beautifully. I bought it on the spot, and smiled for the remaining 3.5 hours back to the hotel.
Ø We all ended up switching hotel rooms because we had to check out and re-check in for a second time…and just guess which room Michelle and I ended up in because we are just that amazing? The blood-stained, non-flushing toilet room. We practically shared a bed to not have to suffer with the nastiness. It was very foul.
Ø That night, we had some free time in Marrakech to shop at the famous Bazaar. ((Side note: on the very first day in Marrakech, before we checked into our hotel the first time, I ended up getting henna done on my right hand, and I don’t think the woman who did it could have ripped me off anymore than she did. I don’t want to talk about it.)
Ø So, a bunch of us hopped in a taxi and shopped in the Bazaar until almost 1am…then we took a horse and buggy back to the hotel, which would have been relaxing had there not been 7 people shoved on each other’s laps in the 4-person fitting buggy.
Ø We woke up the next morning, and then made the 3.5 hour trek back to the ship, weary, still exhausted, and very crabby.
Well, I’m sure I left out many important details, but you get the gist of the story. It was kind of a miserable trip, and we all can laugh about it now that it’s over and we don’t have to sit in the Hot Fez van ever, ever again. Everyone who went on the trip pretty much agreed that it was both hilariously absurd and painfully awful, and the people who didn’t even go on the trip are still talking about it, re-telling stories that their friends told them, etcetera.
I guess one of the vans stopped to pick up a hitchhiker along the way to the Sahara and then dropped the hitchhiker off after an hour of confusion. I can only guess how that story got recycled on the ship. Another van passed by three dead bodies on the side of the Atlas Mountains just as the police were covering them up with white sheets. We all experienced something different, and it was certainly a bond-worthy experience.
Can I just say that I’m glad to be out of the Sahara? Good grief.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Calm before the Storm
We are sitting in the middle of the Gibraltar Straight right now, which is the last stretch of Mediterranean Sea before we hit the Atlantic, and the good ‘ole MV Explorer is fueling up for the second time on this voyage. Tomorrow, we will be ported in Casablanca, Morocco, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. I am still in search of my African Drum (Jembe) and Morocco is our last stop in Africa…so this is finally my chance. I’ve been waiting for so long to finally lay eyes on my drum, and it’s so close, I can feel it.
I can’t believe I’m on the last stretch of this journey, this summer voyage, this 2.5 month excursion. This ship has been my home for a pretty long time, and I try to imagine life on a landlocked campus again, and it’s actually hard. Don’t get me wrong, I miss routine and PSU buddies and the lake effect snow, no doubt about it. But I’ve grown close to this shipboard community, and just like it was hard to leave my family and friends before this voyage, it’s going to be heartbreaking leaving the friends I’ve made this summer.
I’m going to miss the waves rocking me to sleep, and our amazing cabin steward, Achilles, who cleans our room every morning. I’m going to miss my professor, Michael Pearson, who taught me how to look at the world with the fresh eyes of a traveler. I’m going to miss staring out into the blue abyss that is the sea in the middle of the day, laughing at the dolphins trying to show off for us. I’m going to miss making friends with Italians and Pakistanis and Bulgarians. I’m going to miss not being carded as I walk into the bars. Ha. Just kidding.
I’m going to miss Dia Draper’s Voice over the intercom every day, “Good Morning, Voyagers!” I’m going to miss our Green Sheets, and the guest lecturers that are kind enough to inform us about diseases and terrorist bombings that are occurring in each country the day before we enter them. I’m going to miss the pasta and potatoes that are served for every single meal…not so much.
Let’s just say that I’m going to be homesick for this ship when I disembark. There was a week when we first sailed away from Halifax that I did not want to be on this voyage. I remember being so lonely, so nervous about not making friends, or not living life to its fullest in each country. I remember wanting to go home, to call my family, to be anywhere but the middle of the Atlantic. It seems so long ago.
I’m sitting here in the middle of the Gibraltar Straight, alone on deck 5, watching waves crash into rock, and waiting for Morocco. And soon enough, I will be sitting on this same deck, heading back home for the Atlantic Ocean, back to American soil. Life flies, doesn’t it? Life flies whether or not you are having fun. It flies when you are soaking every possible moment into your heart, and it flies when you are not paying attention. It flies, no doubt about it.
So, I’m going to ride my camel into the Saharan sunset, and let life fly through my fingers like the sand in an hourglass. I’m going to live life in Morocco and on the Atlantic until I’m not anymore, and then I will be seeing your smiling faces. : )
Bon Voyage!
A.
I can’t believe I’m on the last stretch of this journey, this summer voyage, this 2.5 month excursion. This ship has been my home for a pretty long time, and I try to imagine life on a landlocked campus again, and it’s actually hard. Don’t get me wrong, I miss routine and PSU buddies and the lake effect snow, no doubt about it. But I’ve grown close to this shipboard community, and just like it was hard to leave my family and friends before this voyage, it’s going to be heartbreaking leaving the friends I’ve made this summer.
I’m going to miss the waves rocking me to sleep, and our amazing cabin steward, Achilles, who cleans our room every morning. I’m going to miss my professor, Michael Pearson, who taught me how to look at the world with the fresh eyes of a traveler. I’m going to miss staring out into the blue abyss that is the sea in the middle of the day, laughing at the dolphins trying to show off for us. I’m going to miss making friends with Italians and Pakistanis and Bulgarians. I’m going to miss not being carded as I walk into the bars. Ha. Just kidding.
I’m going to miss Dia Draper’s Voice over the intercom every day, “Good Morning, Voyagers!” I’m going to miss our Green Sheets, and the guest lecturers that are kind enough to inform us about diseases and terrorist bombings that are occurring in each country the day before we enter them. I’m going to miss the pasta and potatoes that are served for every single meal…not so much.
Let’s just say that I’m going to be homesick for this ship when I disembark. There was a week when we first sailed away from Halifax that I did not want to be on this voyage. I remember being so lonely, so nervous about not making friends, or not living life to its fullest in each country. I remember wanting to go home, to call my family, to be anywhere but the middle of the Atlantic. It seems so long ago.
I’m sitting here in the middle of the Gibraltar Straight, alone on deck 5, watching waves crash into rock, and waiting for Morocco. And soon enough, I will be sitting on this same deck, heading back home for the Atlantic Ocean, back to American soil. Life flies, doesn’t it? Life flies whether or not you are having fun. It flies when you are soaking every possible moment into your heart, and it flies when you are not paying attention. It flies, no doubt about it.
So, I’m going to ride my camel into the Saharan sunset, and let life fly through my fingers like the sand in an hourglass. I’m going to live life in Morocco and on the Atlantic until I’m not anymore, and then I will be seeing your smiling faces. : )
Bon Voyage!
A.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Faith Renewal.
I was laying out the other day, trying to keep my tan, and this guy came over to lay out next to me. He pulled out a novel and began to read. After a while, I decided to ask him what he was reading.
He flipped the cover over to reveal a Shakespeare play. I grinned, and said I didn't know there was a Shakespeare class on the ship (because if there were, I might have enrolled myself in this class...), and he shook his head.
"No. There's not. I just haven't read much Shakespeare and thought I'd give it another go on my own."
My faith in the men on this ship has been renewed. Maybe all of the intelligent guys are lying out on the 5th deck, tanning and reading plays. I should probably tan more often...
He flipped the cover over to reveal a Shakespeare play. I grinned, and said I didn't know there was a Shakespeare class on the ship (because if there were, I might have enrolled myself in this class...), and he shook his head.
"No. There's not. I just haven't read much Shakespeare and thought I'd give it another go on my own."
My faith in the men on this ship has been renewed. Maybe all of the intelligent guys are lying out on the 5th deck, tanning and reading plays. I should probably tan more often...
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