Paalam Mabuhay, MV Explorer, Pt 2

Alright, it's been a couple days since this happened, but I gotta chronicle the last of my adventures even if it kills me.

So eventually, we got to New York. The bus rolled through Spanish Harlem and past Broadway to the Bus Stop. Javier and I walked half a block before he made a call and met his father. We hugged and waved goodbye. It shouldn't be the last time we see each other, though.

I made my way a block to the Megabus terminal. After trying to traverse the lines confusingly, I found where I needed to be. I met this nice old couple from Owings Mills, and we talked about our travels, their day trip in New York, and a Mexican restaurant down the road from where I live that I never been to, but they claim is very good. After waiting about thirty minutes, we jumped on the bus and disembarked. There was room, so I didn't have to wait an extra hour.

As we left the city, I turned to my right and saw the beauty of the Manhattan skyline. Skyscraper after skyscraper reached the sky. It was the view that I know Andro dreams of, and yet here I was, simply leaving it as soon as I saw it. Maybe I've been to so many cities this summer, even the Big Apple doesn't phase me. Either way, I turned forward to the South.

After a lot of napping, texting, and watching Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan movies, we ended up in White Marsh. Soon after, dad picked me up.

And just like that, my travels have ended. Like that, I left home and came back. Aside from a few gifts given away, and some souvenirs acquired, and a few pounds lost, I am back to where I started. But am I the same person?

But though we stopped moving, I must start moving on. As beautiful a summer as I've had, the fall is coming, and it's going to hit hard. When I have time, I can reflect, I can read back on this blog and reminisce of friends gained, of love unfulfilled, of a wonderful life lived. I can see the pictures of my friends and favorite places. But life continues, and I should continue to live it. I have to.

Paalam Mabuhay, MV Explorer.

We landed in another port this morning. I woke up and went to Deck 6 to watch the sunrise only to see a cloudy sky. We pulled into port, and were greeted by a crowd of people who spoke English. We ran out of glamorous new destinations. This is New England for you. Welcome to Boston.

After eating breakfast, we had to deal with immigration. In the union, we were handed our passports and interviewed by immigration officials. The LLCs spoke as if the process was going to be some kind of rough, but all they would ask me is “What's your name?”, “Where are you from?”, “Where do you go to school?” and “You bought a greek musical instrument?” … I can explain about the instrument later, if I haven't mentioned it before. I thought immigration was going to be strict, I was worried they would take my Moroccan whiskey (TEA!) or my nutella. Legit, nobody messes with my Turkish nutella.

When we weren't busy either packing up or dealing with immigration, we watched a very long slideshow that Brianna, Hang, and I worked on last night. There were a ridiculous amount of pictures, probably 20 GB worth, and the movie itself had about an hour length. Picture by picture, the group relived port after port, memory after memory. We relived some of our most glorious memories, and our most embarassing. It's not perfect, I'll work on it before putting it up on youtube and mailing DVD copies to all my friends. Brianna cried, but that's to be expected.

And at last, the end came. After everyone went through immigration, slowly but surely people made their way off the ship, perhaps forever. We gave each other hugs, cried, and took our final photos with one another we swiped our swipes one last time, turned them in, and disembarked. I didn't cry- the energy that act required went toward quaking in my boots nervously.

In all seriousness, I will miss so many people on the MV Explorer. We've friends on this voyage who I enjoy being around, whether we're learning ukulele, making jokes, taking pictures, playing cards, or just plain hanging out. I held and embraced them for as long as I could, hoping that perhaps time would stop and we could have this moment forever. But time rolls on no matter what you do to stop it. It was time to go. So I must let go.

Javier and I took the bus with Victor and Victoria (aw, que lindo) to South Station. Those two then caught the subway toward the airport, and we gave them hugs one last time. I'll miss both of them very much, Victor with his wonderfully cold humor and Victoria with her sweetness. From there we took a bus toward New York.

...

Our bus driver is talking on the cell phone as we head down... I don't even know what road this is. I'm sure he knows what he's doing, but after listening to Professor Morris's lectures condemning it all, I'm just hoping we don't miss an exit we're supposed to.

…

Oh, and the bus driver finally turned on the internet. Also, I keep smelling whiskey. Then I turned and saw the loud blind dude with the open container. Okay, I'm not going crazy. (On a sidenote, I'm giving up alcohol for the next year. I legit could be done after this year depending on what I want. I wanna end college and move on, I want no distractions from it, including alcohol. It would be greatly appreciated if you didn't tempt me from now on.) So I shall post this... now.

Alumni Ball

Yesterday was the alumni ball. For some, with really extravagant outfits and makeup, saw this coming months before the actual occasion. Others didn't even know it would occur and have had to scrounge together outfits. I, who somehow acquired a large amount of formal wear over the years, had a modest yet suitable outfit of a blue shirt, and a red tie. Unfortunately, I couldn't find

Hang, in a blue top and a white skirt, looked more ravishing than ever before. Her skin sparkled, her hair was straight yet soft, and her eyes lit up more than ever before. Along with her beautiful smile, she was absolutely radiant. I was a lucky dude. There was no one else I would've rather escorted through the night. (That's saying a lot. Anyone else would be salivating over all the blonds on this ship...)

We call it the alumni ball because now that classes are over and we are about to head back to shore, we were no longer students on this ship. Unless we return for another semester, no longer will we be jumping port to port, while taking classes in between. It's a sad feeling.

With the ball came dinner. It comprised of bread, bruschetta, soup, salad, and steak. By far, the steak was the best food I've had on the ship ever. They hold out their quality control for this night. Everyone also got a glass of champagne- but while I was taking pictures of Hang and another of her friends, some of my other friends jacked our drinks. That was lame.

Afterward came a lot of dancing. There were two stages for it, the union and the seventh deck bar. The bar had Sammy Lam DJing, and he did a great job of going from one awesome song to the next. The other room... was dead. It was playing country music. It was the saddest thing I've seen all trip. I've seen some really really really sad things on this trip that I don't talk or take pictures of. Either way, we danced the night away.

Midway through the dancing, the dessert lines opened up. There was simply cake after cake after cake. There was so much sweetness, you would think we grew sugar cane on this ship or something. And it wasn't just typical square cuts- these were top of the line masterpieces. The chocolate mousse cake was to die for.

And after we danced off all the cake we had (oh my god), the night came to a close. Really, it was a great way to close our time on the ship, celebrating with friends through music, dance, and dessert. There isn't anything else I can ask for- except for another two months on this ship. Straight up.

"It's a shame about the weather, but I'll know soon we'll be together, and I can't wait 'til then."

Allegedly, assuming we're not behind schedule, I should be landing in Boston tomorrow. This is the last of the three gigantic posts I wrote in advance. If I planned this out correctly, I'll be finding my way to a Boston station and take a train from there all the way back to Penn Station in Baltimore. (This post also serves as a reminder to my parents- Pick me up soon! I'll call you)

Though this is just a prediction (I wrote this in June!), I most likely had the time of my life. You spend two months seeing Europe, with (what seems to be) a great group of peers from across the entire country, you're bound to good times, one way another. Sure the travels would be stressful, but for the magical moments of triumphantly getting where you want to be, and enjoying the moment, there's no satisfaction like that. Hopefully I'll have tasted it more than half a dozen times, hehe.

But for as much fun I (assumed I) had, no matter what actually happened, I know I'll look forward to nothing more than sharing these moments with you, my friends. I'm sure I've already done a bit of that, sending posts to this blog via email for the world to read. Hopefully I'll have had time to post pictures up too (otherwise I'm in for a long week of uploading pictures to imgur). But whenever we reunite, I'll be down for sitting back, enjoying cerveza, and talking til dawn anywhere you want.

Has this journey changed me at all? You'll have to ask me that in person. Hopefully, I'll learn a thing or two with Italian. Maybe I'll learn and be confident enough in French to add that to my Facebook languages. I would hope I would be more confident in navigation so that I don't have to rely on that GPS as much. But more importantly, hopefully I'll have some combination of confidence, self-esteem, and worldliness that I can feel like the world is at my fingertips. ... Also I'd like to be able to ask a girl out in more or less five languages (I was up to two prior to the voyage). I might pull that out on one girl I've had my eye on when I get back- that would be glorious. Again, ask me if I'm any of these things- if not, just punch me right in the gut. And if I can, force me to ask a girl out with all five or so phrases because you know I'm too reserved to do so otherwise.

See you all very soon!

C23- End of Finals, Talent Show, Gender Bender

Yesterday was the last day I'll ever have to be in a French or Psychology class. Ever. Can you believe it?

 

The French final was a little difficult. I essentially spent the two days prior learning passe compose, future proche, passe recent, adjective agreement, etc. etc. I don't know how much of it stuck. But I've done great work on essays and journals and diaries of the sort, so I expect to pass.

 

Psychology was easier. It was 50 multiple choice, with an essay that we could think about the night before. I never expect my grades in that class to surpass Global Studies, but I expect to do more than passing.

 

Oh, and I got a 96 on the final exam in Global Studies. That's a solid A, but now it's tearing at me wondering what I got wrong. I've done the math, I got exactly one question wrong. It's the little things that make you go crazy.

 

After lunch, I got a haircut, because I wanted to look clean and fresh for the ball. I met Anri, who is a hairdresser. I believe they told me she was from Zimbabwe or South Africa, she has an accent reminiscent of one of a British colony. Apparently my hair was crazy dry, so she put some moisturizing shampoo and conditioner. I had her trim my sides and the back. She then styled my hair in a short faux-hawk. I've actually come to like it, it makes me feel like some hip pretty-boy European soccer player or something. Brianna liked it because her boyfriend back home wears his hair the same way...

 

In the afternoon, the group watched Saw. I understand why Barbara likes it so much. I saw it less as a horror film so much as something like a suspense thriller kind of thing. Rather than focus on a dude cutting off his own leg, I focused on analyzing the storytelling, trying to figure out how the direction is leading the audience, only to hit them hard with unseen truths about the situation later. All the while the story just reveals layers upon layers of character development that keeps you enthralled. I loved the movie so much, I stood up and clapped at the close. I gotta try to get the next five or so movies...

 

In the evening, we had a lot to see after dinner. We had a joke pre-port (for those tuning in at home that don't know what I'm talking about, a pre-port is a seminar on immigration and sightseeing prior to jumping off the ship) about Boston, and they warned us not to talk about the Yankees, and to not eat anything, and to not wear orange in South Boston on St. Patrick's Day. We got a kick out of the mockery of the deans.

 

The crew put on their own talent show. Edward, a server that has always been very friendly to me, sang two ballads before dancing with his girlfriend to Enrique Iglesias. Que lindo. Magandang maganda. Vic, another server, also sang more ballads. I should only expect such things from my Filipino kuyas, way to outshine my serenades. The hair dressers and manicurists did a skit about a really bad airplane- it was funny. A crew band played "Black Magic Woman." And  the housekeeping crew, while waving flags of different countries, sang "We Are The World," as the whole

 

Afterward, the LLCs did this gender bender thing, which was an informational session about LGBT stuff intertwined with movies confronting our perspective on gay people and performancs to make light of cross-dressing. I have to say, the performances themselves were often abysmal, but they were comical in that sense. But I did come out of there with a bit more understanding of the terminology. Even though as an Art Scholar, I have LGBT friends who I love and enjoy being around, I never had my (lack of) understanding confronted, especially when it came to the clear definitions of transexual and transgender.

 

Today is the alumni ball. I asked Hang to be my date, per se- she said yes. I know we're both very excited about this. We'll all get dressed up and there'll be dinner, dancing, picture-taking, (I expect lots and lots of picture-taking) and champaigne, so everyone will have fun.

Reflection- The Souvenir

Morocco is far behind us. The MV Explorer has glided out of the turbulence through the calm, yet chilly Atlantic Ocean. We're putting the east behind us, and move west toward Boston, returning to where we live, but not returning to the same lives, no doubt, no matter what we did or did not do, no matter what did or did not happen to each of us on this voyage.

My room was a mess. A pile, a mix of laundry and souvenirs, sat between my desk (… is that what I call this thing?) and my bed. So opening the more gigantic of my two luggages, I got a headstart on packing. I threw in souvenir after souvenir, gently separating them with clothes so they didn't break. The only fragile thing I got was a Turkey mug for my mother, and maybe the teapot from Casablanca. A lot of these souvenirs will be gifts to my families, a lot will go to my dearest, closest friends.

Of course, I get to keep a couple things, too. Lord knows I'm keeping all this Turkish tea and Moroccan whiskey (mint tea, no lie. We can't bring in alcohol to the ship, and I was not about to test my relationships with the Filipinos to see if I can smuggle stuff.) That teapot will look nice in our apartment, along with the tea, and that gigantic bottle of honey I got from BJ's.

But while each souvenir is representative of the places they came from, and the cultures that created them, there's only one single object from this voyage that truly represents my experience. No, it's not one of the seven or so Semester at Sea shirts I got when I ran out of laundry. It's not the three pairs of underwear I got under the same situation (though I must admit, I do like them a lot. Roomy.) It's not the water bottle I bought after feeling like dying in Dubrovnik, or the shoes I got in Italy when my other ones wore down. The souvenir that shares my sentiments on this voyage, yet reveals pretty much nothing about the experience itself, is a simple necklace that I put together myself. On my neck, a small evil eye and a clean white shell hang from a brass safety pin attached to a black necklace string.

The evil eye, a simple blue bead with a circular black and white inlay, is a small trinket given to pretty much every voyager on Semester At Sea this summer by Karin and Geoff, this couple who has essentially travelled everywhere and back. Karin herself travelled on Semester At Sea close to when it first started- the ship back then wasn't nearly as nice as it is today. Anywho, the evil eye, while we saw it in every country after Dubrovnik, is a symbol from Turkey. According to myth, it's supposed to protect you from bad luck- if your evil eye breaks, it means that it threw itself in front of the Hand of Fate.

I like to think that there were times in this voyage where I could've used an evil eye or two... or three... From the first day in Barcelona, I found myself licking my own wounds, piercing my pinky with my own nail as I tripped and fell on a bus. And then there was the Bulgarian left toe incident. (My skin is healed, but the toe is still jammed really well. I can walk on it fine, I can even play basketball in it if I wanted to, but I am just dying for it to heal.) And of course, there are people, who, while certainly not malicious by any means, selfishly look to rip you off on goods. And many an SASer has been victim of a bad cab driver, a pickpocket, a crooked deal, and, from what I've heard from the crew, even a stick-up.

So I wear the evil eye for a few layers of reasons. It represents that I have been hurt, a physical reminder of how bad luck has hit me before. But I like to think of it as a proud showing of battle scars. I've been hurt, but I'm not afraid to let the world know that. The world can see me as an example of things gone wrong, of carelessness personified. But the scars have healed (the toe has not internally, I might have to have it checked out). And with the healing comes a sense of wisdom, an awareness that the world can be out to get you sometimes and that sometimes things are out in place such that if you're not careful, you'll be burned. Ultimately, it will be that wisdom, not the evil eye itself, that will protect me from future harm both at home and in my travels.

Yet on that same paper clip lies a shell, white as snow, smooth as silk, a piece of pure, sheer beauty. Out of all the shells I've seen, from Barcelona to Varna, this shell from the island of Aegina is by far the most beautiful one in my possession. While my friends were tanning or napping, I went out into the water by myself, just to enjoy the water. I found this area where there a lot of fish and other sea creatures- I even found a small conch. Around that area, I saw a white object within the sand. So I left my feet, let my body sink into the ground, and blindedly grabbed a handful of sand before resurfacing. Within that handful, I found this gorgeous object. It's almost a diamond in the rough.

(There used to be another shell on the clip- a shell I named “Bloody”. As I agonized in pain, while my toe apparently gushed with blood, as my friends surrounded me and prepared to give me care, I grabbed a handful of sand and found a rough, tough shell that was pretty in its own right. It was meant to represent that beauty can be found in tough situations, that there's a silver lining to the clouds. I broke that shell trying to alter the necklace. I was upset when I broke it, but now I'm actually glad that I did it, though. The other shell is prettier.)

No matter what bad things happen to you, or to those around you, there is still beauty in the world, in a number of forms. Sometimes it's in a shell that you find within the sand. Sometimes it's a sandwich on a train after you fasted all day. Or perhaps it's the view of Florence from the mountain above Fiesole. Sometimes, it's a girl with a beautiful smile, walking with you along a beach, then tending to your wounds as you bleed out. The whole world is beautiful if you open your eyes to it.

Of course, I wouldn't dare tell you to run around the world without a care trying to find the one, or diamonds, or whatever your heart happens to desire. But I wouldn't tell you to stay in your room for the world is out there to get you. All that you need to know is that there is beauty, and there is pain. For there is yin, and there is yang, but the yang you find is worth the yin you have to put up with. Don't allow the bad things that happen to you get in the way between you and the beauty you seek. That is the lesson I must pass on to you, and it is the lesson that I remind myself when I see the two trinkets hanging from the new thread that is Semester At Sea.

Reflection- Minutes to Midnight, Half past in class

Yesterday was our last day of classes. We spent most of the classes reviewing for the final, going over what will be on it, what the format will be. We also had to fill out some surveys through the intranet, rating our classes. Nothing out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, today we have our final in Global Studies.

 

I guess now would be a good time to look upon some of these courses, and share how I feel about them.

 

Elementary French, taught by Emilie Roman, was a bit of a debacle. It was a lot of material that a lot of the students didn't expect, it's a three-credit course that got bumped up to four. Our teacher's handwriting was atrocious, she and I probably have the two worst handwritings on the ship. Sometimes other students didn't find what was expected very clear. It was a headache.

 

But on the personal level, I felt this class served to be the most useful in interactions in Morocco. As little as we knew, it did help us convey what we wanted to say to Abdul on the train to Marrakech. I used it at every restaurant and McDonald's. Sure, everyone else I travelled with wanted to use Arabic phrases, but I'm proud of what French I have, and while it may not have helped the group very well (I was never good at asking about navigation in foreign languages, even in English...), I got my food quick and easy without asking questions.

 

Now, I'm incredibly biased about Professor Charles Morris's Psychology of Learning and Memory class. Outside of class, I really like Professor Morris as a person. We once had an in-depth conversation about both Maryland and Ohio State sports, how Williams jumped ship from Ohio State to coach at his alma mater, how Jim Tressell stepped down this past year based on all these allegations. In addition, he uses baseball and football metaphors every day in class, and often I get my chance to shine with my ability to relate to them. And overall, he's just a very nice old fellow. It's honestly not that hard for you to become my favorite professor, you just got to hit the right spots.

 

Perhaps it's not the class that I'm doing the best in, but for my academics back home, it's not only useful on the transcript, but I feel like it will be useful in helping me memorize my material (except the classes that require the most memorizing are behind me now, or what I will never take. Orgo, hahaha...) The memory techniques discussed in class could be so useful if applied. I'm sad that I wasn't able to take a class like this my first semester in college. (Or rather, maybe my first semester in high school... or middle school...) This class felt that good. I walk away with a better sense of how to commit things to memory, how to try to prevent Alzheimer's, and how texting while driving is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done and will never do again.

 

Global Studies, is one that I think everyone is supposed to hate on every Semester At Sea voyage. A lot of people complain about how the teacher is kind of vague about what exactly will be on the exam, how he'll just put up a slide and ramble on and on about it. It's not clear-cut by any means.

 

Maybe I'm cocky. Maybe I'm arrogant. But maybe I was built for this kind of class, that throws concepts at you, disguised behind vocabulary terms and facts, but really makes you think about what you're doing, where you're going, how things are related to each other.  After all, I passed, no, succeeded in, no, dominated a relatively rigorous Ethnomusicology class back home without even opening a book. I think I could make a damn good History or Cultural Studies major if I so chose. So I hold no ill will against Lawrence Butler, because this is my theme park. ... Why do I do computer science?

 

I do not regret taking any of these classes. My only regret is... maybe not taking Poetry or Theatre or something like that. Theatre class looked so fun from the outside, and after living across the hall from Alex Miletich and Bobby Hunter for two years, I can't help but be curious how well I would do in that course. But that would have made the workload very strenuous to have added that fourth class. (Also it would kick me to thirteen credits. In a two month period, I know better.)