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.)

Filipinos at Sea- Au Revoir, H/K Utility Man 2

So we were walking down toward UN Square back on Morocco Day 1, when as I look to the store to my right, I spot, wearing a ragged t-shirt, shorts, and a cap, H/K Utility Man 2. I yelled a loud “hoy!” and he said hello back. But then he alerted me that he wasn't going to be on the ship after this port. That was a real bummer.

Out of all the crew members, he was probably the one I got to see the most. I would always pass him and make small talk as I went to class and he was pagulo (watch that be completely wrong) with his duties on the ship. He would occasionally catch me either singing, playing ukulele, or playing piano when I hang out in the union. Out of anyone on the ship, he was the one who was very supportive of my talent, pushing me to do the talent show. He was a real friend.

Ultimately, this situation is what has to come for all these crew members one way or another. While they may return to the ship in a few months time, when the contract is up, it's time to go back home. Ronnie the head waiter has already left the ship as well- his replacement is now already on duty in the main dining room. And Assistant Housekeeper left the ship back in Istanbul. I felt bad that I didn't get to say a real goodbye.

But for H/K Utility Man 2, he has a lot to look forward to. He'll be returning to his home in the north of Luzon, he'll see his family. He also has many friends throughout the Philippines, so he gets to take some time to visit them all. But I'll miss having him around.

Heck, I guess this is as good a time as any. The students on this voyage, save for Sammy, are all departing the ship in nine days. Though I have made many friends on this voyage, I know many of them I may never see again. We may keep in touch through writing, facebook, email, and the like, but we'll never have the intimacy of travelling the world together again, unless maybe a couple of them marry each other, which I completely doubt will happen.

I wish I knew how to say goodbye in Tagalog...


(Eddie)

Morocco Days 4 and 5- Marrakech

After spending the night back at the ship, we went on the train for Marrakech. On the train ride, we met a nice man named Abdul, who spoke French. Granted, Brianna's and my French are absolutely abysmal, so that didn't help too much. But his smartphone had 3G, and he just pulled out Google Translate. He showed us pictures of the border between Aleria and Morocco, where the landscape is wonderful, and the American shoot movies like Gladiator. He also showed us pictures of his friend in Washington, D.C., who is a DJ. Small world.

As we left the train station and walked to the hotel, we met a man named Hussein. He offered to drive us to the Sahara or do other attractions, but Victor and Hang were keen on this ziplining thing, which we'll get to later. So we agreed on a price, and we all jumped into his car and went to the resort where the ziplining was. Unfortunately, because of Ramadan, the resort was closed by the time we got there.

But Hussein kind of made it up to us. He gave us a tour of the far outskirts. He took us a place to ride camels, since Brianna talked about wanting to do that the entirety of our stay here. The camels were tall, covered in flies. We rode for about thirty minutes. We didn't go at a fast pace, but these were camels, not the Acela express. Mine was called... I'm not quite sure... something like Harisha?

He drove through the Ourika (probably spelled wrong) Valley to a Berber village, where we saw this cooperative where they made Argan oil. We got to try a couple of products there- it's good stuff. I wish they made it in the states...

We also got a tour of this traditional Berber home, where they grind wheat with the help of the river. Within this mud and straw home, as many as twelve people lived. These people were holding onto the way of life they had for centuries.

But during the car ride, I found my friends particularly annoying. They were constantly messing with each other, poking one another, messing with each other's hair. Eventually, when one asked for some assistance from someone, I, pissed off, yelled, “We will turn this car around.” One responded, “If you act like an adult, you're going to be an adult.” Maybe I am an adult. Maybe I'm an adult surrounded by children. Maybe I need an adult to have conversation. Maybe I needed to feel young...

Thankfully, the scenery allowed me to put my mind off of them, despite their childish games. I would describe it as a cross between West Virginia, and Arizona. Tall Mountains of red clay, covered in green plants, separated by rivers, rise out of the hot, dry landscape where the only living things were their sheep and their shephards. If I was alone, if I was not on SAS and couldn't rent vehicles, I would completely be down with just taking myself and a hotshot motorcycle and simply driving to drive. Just to go with no destination and no purpose, only to forget the world behind me and see the countryside in front of me, that is what I would enjoy.

After we got back into the city, Hussein dropped us off at Nihad's, who we broke her fast with. We also met up with Dong Yu and her boyfriend, and Victoria. In Ramadan tradition, during the month they cannot eat or drink until past sundown. I was very happy to see her. So at her house, we met her parents, who were very friendly, and her niece and nephew, who are adorable. We ate a number of different bread foods and sweets, sugar is very important when you're fasting. (… reflect on the lollipop incident...)

Once we were done, we walked through the Ville Nouvelle and we saw Abdul. Except we thought his name was Muhammad. We were all embarrassed. Nihad and him spoke for a few minutes about how they knew us. Most of us were bewildered. They were speaking in French, so I was bewildered, but not overly bewildered.

Then we checked out their medina. It's really really really busy. Much more places to eat and shop than the last one. We got to try a lot of food- tajime, escargo, some chicken on a stick. Good stuff. Some of us shopped a little too.

Day 2, we woke up. Hang made us breakfast out of KFC leftovers- chicken sandwiches. I was just awe-struck by the fact we had breakfast, let alone warm breakfast. We left to go back to the ziplining place. Now, I'll admit, I was kind of grumpy that we were going at all, I'm here to see cities, not seek thrills. But by the end of the trek I might have been the one that enjoyed it the most. We strapped on our harnesses and flew from one side to another. Some of us flew better than others. Victoria got stuck in the middle of the longest and someone had to go get her. That was embarrassing. There were also cool wire monkey bridges that we had to cross. I felt like I was back in the fifth grade on the spring safety patrol trip to the YMCA. I felt like a kid again. Finally.

Then we jumped on the train and went home. Before going back to the ship, Brianna, Gabe, and I went back to the Casablanca medina to spend the rest of our cash. I bought a teapot, I think I'll give it to Alex Miletich, that way it's a gift for our apartment. You know, I need something nice to keep all my Turkish tea and Moroccan whiskey.

To think this was the last day in the last port... Reflections to follow.

Rabat and Fez

Morocco Day 2- Rabat

 

What did we do today? I first wrote this on paper instead of email- no laptop for a first.

 

After a ridiculous walk and a somewhat vexing cab ride, we caught a train to Rabat, the capital of Morocco.

 

When we got off the train, a lot of us were really hungry, I guess they didn't get up for breakfast. After walking through the medina, which, while certainly ahving stuff, wasn't really really impresive, we tried to find a McDonald's, which is really really good. They have jalepeno peppers. Enough said, b ut on the way there, we found a rather tempting patisserie, adios we gave in.

 

When we openeed the menu, it wasll all in French, no Arabic. Suddenly it was I instead of Mohamed who knew what was up. It also helps that we have au bon pain in Washington, D.C., so I knew my taste to begin with. So while everyone else was simply clueless, I ordered un pain au chocalat avec cafe au lait. (That said, my French is still terrible. Heck, what I just wrote might not be right to begin with. But for once what little I had was more useful than Arabic. I'll take the personal victory.) It was a simple snack.

 

We finally made it to McDonald's. I had a McChicken avec frites et Coca Cola. Simple. While we ate, Victor booked a hotel in Fes. Apparently all seven of us travelling together are gonna squeez into one room. Tres bien, non? (While it shares the same post, we're not going to re-edit this based on sharing time. We roll as it went.)

 

We checked out the Necropolis, which constitutes of thirteenth century ruins. It was well decorated with plants, flowers, and chickens. there used to be a mosque there, but the minaret still stands tall albeit it is now home to a rather large stork-like bird.

 

On our way back, we passed by a number of government buildings. We could tell because in front of them were armed military men with machine guns. For real, not even D.C. is this intense most of the time, not even during the inauguration. But I suppose Muhammad VI do as he sees fit.

 

In front of the train station we were trying to depart from, there was a large group of protesters. (Yay taste of Arab Spring!) Certainly this was not Tahrir Square but I enjoyed the opportunity to see North African activism in action. Mohamad asked a local storekeeper who was protesting- apparently these are unemployed college graduates. though this may be the story of North Africa in general, but Morocco has been leaving their grads in the dust in terms of job creation. Muhammad VI has done a lot to change the country to the protesters' demands, however, we won't be seeing regime changes anytime soon here.

 

And so I sit on a train, without my laptop, on my way to Fez. I wait silently to put this on the web, while my friends either sleep, read, listen to music, or (jokingly?) flirt with one another. Ca va bien.

...

 

Apparently this countrty is small. On the train we met this tour guide who gave another SAS group a tour. We decided to plan through this guy a tour in Rabat. Cool beans.

 

 

Morocco Day 2- Fes (or Fez, depending on who's asking)

 

Also written on paper on a train. Won't re-edit.

 

Dealing with our hotel stay in Fes was a bit vexing. To save money, Victor booked a room for two people- then stuffed seven inside. He and I were the official ones checked in at first, and the plan was afterward, we would elegantly make our way to the room two by two. It was a simple plan.

 

We had a slight hithc, Hang naively walked in along with Vic and me thinking she'd blend in because we were all Asian. But the receptionist, who had just checked us in, was keen on not letting her in without being documented. So he took her passport. the keep up with the illusion and get her passport back, Victor brought in a cot. Admittedly, I wish I had said somethign before hand... what would we think he'd think? Hang as Vic's one night stand that he picked up in sixty seconds?)

 

But otherwise, everyone snuck in fine. While waiting for everyone to finally take a showever, we all got to watch television (or at least I did). I tried watching AlJazeera, but it wasn't AlJazeera English like it is back on campus. There was BBC News, however, but their coverage was solely focused on these riots that have been going on in the United Kingdom the past four days, which are fascinating, yet perplexing.

 

Ultimately, the sleeping arrangement went something like this. Brianna and Hang shared a bed. Hang felt like she should sleep on the floor, but I was adamant that the girls should get the beds one way or another. Mohamed, insisting that he deserved a bed, and Vernonica shared one. I know what you're thinking, but the only thing that apparently happened between those two was that Mohamed breathed really loudly, kind of like the dude who stands behind Helga in "Hey Arnold!", and she kicked him throughout the night. I, the lone wolf, took the floor, close to the door. But the good shephard always sleeps at the gate...

 

So slowly but surely, everyone got up, prepared themselves for the day, and snuck out of the hotel room without a problem. We met the tour guide we met on the train the night before, who set us up with Mohammed, (hopefully this isn't confusing) another guide from the Ministry of Tourism. So we jumped in the van, saw a nice scenic view of Fez, and made our merry way through traditional attractions within the city's medina.

 

Simply from the view, thsi medina was gigantic, it definitely blows its Casablanca and Rabat counterparts out of the water. Meanwhile it is still home to a lot of different ancient crafts, taught from father to son as it has been for centuries. We checked out this pottery area, where the craftsmen make and paint pots, and construct murals. Despite the lack of machinery, these were precision pieces of work, and you could not help but be impressed. We also walked by people dying silk with safe chemicals from plants. It's labor intensive, constantly submerging and pulling up the silk from the dye. One circle in the city had people making pans out of copper.

 

But the real prizes of Fez were its leather, carpets, and textiles. We saw the area where they tan and dye the leather. It was rancid smelling, thankfully we were given mint leaves to smell and counteract the leather.

 

We also checked out a carpet place run by a cooperative where thousands of women work on these carpets per day. These guys tried really hard to get Victor and me to buy carpet. While the rest went on a tour to see the weavers, they separated Victor and me to look at different carpets. They pulled out these glorious royal blue ones for me, and I couldn't help but gawk. I had to break it down to the four people (they gave us a lot of attention) that kept showing me carpets taht I was a poor Filipino who had no money for gigantic hand crafted beautiful carpet. I felt really bad, because they tried so hard to get me to buy something, but I know I am simply not at liberty. But they understood, and took no offense. We even got to talk about the UK Riots, Moros in the Philippines, FC Barcelona, and Northeastern University. I hate that they're salesmen, but otherwise I enjoyed the company of these Moroccans, tres sociable.

 

We're now on the train back back to Casablanca. We were going to go straight to Marrakesh, but we decided we had enough free time to go back to the ship. Meanwhile a nubmer of us won't get to Marrakesh because of schoolwork. Such a drag.

Casablanca Day, and A Reflection on a Friend

Casablanca is a city of different sides. Where there are shantytown shacks, there are five star hotels. Where there is French, there is Arabic. Where there is old, there is new. There's constant construction, especially along the waterfront. Morocco is growing from its phosphorous trade and dealings with West Africa, so no doubt the city will change with time. I kind of wish I could come back in ten years or so to see what it looks like.

 

In the morning, Brianna and I went on a bilingual tour of the Hassan II Mosque. There's only one word to describe the mosque- gigantic. Words cannot fully describe the scale of this building, the height of its single minaret taller than the Washington Monument, the main prayer hall that can house twenty five thousand people, and the courtyard on the exterior that can accomodate eighty thousand more worshippers, the forty some fountains underneath that hall, and the immense bath houses. Yet for its size, it has all these little craftsman intricacies which have to take so much time to produce. It's a modern world wonder to say the least.

 

In the afternoon, we walked about, checked out this one boulevard with shops, and made our way to the Old Medina. We were greeted by this old man with cataracts, who tried to help us shop, and then tried to get us to come to his store. I, understanding that A) We have no objective in the first place and B) not wanting to be rude to a helpful old man, followed him deep into the medina to his large, rather well equipped store. He asked me where I was from, and I told him the Philippines, and he replied, "Maganda!" Mohamed and I were suspicious on the way, and were ready to bolt if something fishy happened. But we got there no problem, and Hang and I bought gifts for people back home no problem. He even humoured my hardline haggling, and Hang's annoying cutesie "please can you lower the price" routine. So sometimes faith in people pays off.

 

I've come up with a simple rule: If in a foreign country and a native greets you with Tagalog, he probably is an honest businessman.

 

In the night, we went out again and walked what felt like forever to get to UN Square. At the square, there was nothing going on, save for a few kids playing soccer. So we went to... a McDonald's. There, I checked my facebook, and I saw how everyone was leaving messages on Max Cowan's wall. August 8th was the anniversary of when he departed our lives. (To conclude the chronicles, we also went to a juice bar, and then bought some bread close to the old medina on our way back. But that's not important.)

 

I knew Max for a millisecond compared to everyone else. My first experience with him came on our spring trip to Florida, where he sat next to me. Although I was my typical, emo I-really-don't-want-to-talk-right-now self, he was more happy, more rambunctious, and more alive than anyone else. We wouldn't really get to know each other until our junior year, when we had English together and had to debate one another. He came to the assignment with a brightness and enthusiasm that nobody in my group could match, and we were soundly defeated. He also almost ran over my foot once before an AP test.

 

But even though I didn't spend much time with him, I knew she was an essential part of my sister's first year at River Hill. They both had Jazz Band together. I know with his personality he must've done a lot to cheer her up when she was down. I appreciate him so much for looking out for her, even when I failed to.

 

It was unfair how such a character left the world so abruptly. He had so much going for him. He was about to entere senior year, he had plans for Israel. He had tons upon tons of loving friends and family. And with a blink of an eye, a reading of an email, and a burst of tears, he was gone like that.

 

You have to understand our mortality, how with a flip of a switch the world can go black like that. Our time is limited on this planet one way or another, we each are ticking time bombs. What determines the worth of our lives, no matter how many hours, minutes, and seconds that constitute it, is how we spend that time. Max lived his life to the fullest, working hard in school, practicing his saxophone, joking with friends and loving everyone around him. I can only hope that when my time comes, whenever that should be, someone could say I was maybe half the man he was.

 

I like to think the events of that year shaped the person I am today. I was such a recluse in high school, and I regret being who I was. Lord knows I wasn't always the "Yes Man", the dude who is up for anything and everything, whether it be ordering food or taking excursions into D.C. even when I had exams hours before. (Boy do I gamble and win a lot...) Heck, maybe that perspective is what pushed me here onto Semester At Sea. I guess I've changed. I wish it didn't have to come from this.

 

So Max, I know I'm doing awesome things, but if you were still with us, I know you'd be blowing all of us out of the water. I can only hope to live my life by your example. Should we meet again, somehow, some way, I'll be more than happy to share my stories with you. Earth is a darker place without you. The world misses you. Your friends miss you. I know Nkki misses you. I miss you.

Where Am I Today? (Episode 6)- MOROCCO!!!

Casablanca! The city that brought you... Casablanca! If I remember correctly, it was a place where people of multiple backgrounds came together for odd reasons? I need to finish that movie!

Shout outs to nobody! (I don't think I know anyone from this country...)

C17- Talent Show

In other news, I got 100 on my Global Studies Exam. And I hardly studied, in relation to a lot of students. Praise the lord and get at me.

 

Today, we had a big talent show on the ship. Yours truly obviously played ukulele. It was nerve-racking prior to the performance, since I don't think I've performed solo in front of crowd of this magnitude. But once you start strumming, and singing a little bit, the flutters go away, and it's just like serenading Croatians on a beach. In a four minute span, I played "Somewhere Over The Rainbow," "I'm Yours", "Hey Soul Sister", and "Just The Way You Are". You know, the standards.

 

The round of applause afterwards was pretty heartwarming. As I walked out, little children raised their hands for high fives. I had a round of high fives, fist bumps, and pats on back afterward. And this one girl who I had my eye on this entire trip but had no reason to talk to told me my performance was awesome. Life is about the tiny victories.

 

There were some pretty magnificent performances. My friend Nancy, who eventually won third place, showed of her piano virtuosity. Matt Timko played a lovely song, seemingly about reconciliation, that he wrote on the ship. This one girl performed a hula, which made me kind of homesick for ukulele open mics. A dancer girl did a slam poetry reading, which I didn't expect from her at all, and won second place. Very moving. This one girl, who teaches belly dancing on the ship, did a magnificent solo performance that won it all.

 

But there as this one that was just plain absurd. I kid you not, I have witnessed the worst cover of Bohemian Rhapsody ever. I'll leave it at that.

TEDx Semester At Sea

For those who may not know, TED (which stands for Technology, Entertainment, and Design) has been this series of lectures, held in London, where people comes to share ideas of how to change the world. Here on Semester At Sea, we had the opportunity for our teachers and students to share their projects and ideas with the other students, and through the magic of video and the internet, the rest of the world. TEDx is a program where TED lightly sponsors similar events and conferences across the world. Today is the first time the MV Explorer has ever had a TEDx event.

The highlight of the event was Andrew Kahn, a Theater professor from Buffalo State College, who shared his Anne Frank Project. It started from a play of The Diary of Anne Frank he organized on his campus, where they paralleled it with the struggles of a Tutsi girl during the Rwanda 1994 Crisis. It has expanded to a week long celebrate at Buffalo State where they confront issues of racism and bigotry though song and dance. It has attracted the attention of activists of both the Holocaust and the Rwandan genocide. The college has even developed relations with Rwandan students, videoconferencing with them monthly and sending students to the country.

The rest of the program was... okay. One student gave out her philosophy of life, "Share the secret, Pay it forward, smile," ultimately culminating in a sense of destiny control.

A riveting video of an English teacher in Dubai was played, confronting how languages are dying, and how while we need to teach English to people, we cannot suppress their own language development. In ninety years, we will have but a fraction of the languages we have now, and with each unique language come unique concepts that Chinese and English simply do not have words for. We lose an ability to express ideas every time a language dies. As a linguist, I found this profound.

A student named JP Sullivan shared his project of starting a financial literacy curriculum in his local high schools, seeing how essentially nobody knew about money in high school, and lack of education was the major cause of the past recession.  (he sounded like he believes we may be out... but really?) His points were valid, and I commend his work.

A businessman named Spencer Frank talked about how he started a business designed to help build cheap, effective housing after disasters such as the Indian tsunami. It was cool, but as someone who doesn't touch business or money, I found it less riveting.

The conference concluded with a collaboration video of "Stand By Me" using people from across the world to make the video. I've seen similar things, but it rings of the common thread of music and commonality amongst all people.

Istanbul Day 5- Guitar Shopping

I know I've had amazing days during this voyage, but for one reason or another, this one is up on the charts as one of my favorites.

No, I did not spend the day with the girls, for the upteenth time. But rather, I found my love. Guitars.

The night before, Victor told me one of his friends wanted a guitar on the cheap. I, looking for an opportunity to not do stuff with the girls and satisfy my desire for musical instruments, was more than happy to tag along and essentially do his shopping. Victor knew of one place with musicshops past Galleta Tower, towards Taxim Square. So we went.

When I say "with music shops," I mean loaded with music shops. For about a quarter of a mile, you couldn't go down this street without some sort of music store being in sight. All sorts of instruments, Turkish soz, guitars, basses, drums, saxophones, any western instrument you could ever want as a musician could be found here. There was even an entire store dedicated to cymbals.

The guitar Victor's friend wanted was an acoustic guitar with a single cutaway. And we had a budget of $100. Otherwise the dude wasn't particularly specific.

We perused a couple guitar stores, tried a couple guitar here and there. What's strange about the stores is when they marked the prices, they didn't often list them in TL, but in US and Euro. At probably the third store we walked in, we found this Laguna classical electric. It was gorgeous, sounded wonderful, felt good in my hands. It was like a perfect glove on my hand. It was love at first touch. After an ordeal with his bank and an ATM, Victor acquired the money to pay for it, and ta-da, we were done. Alas, it isn't meant to be for me and her, but we had our moment together. Sniff. Sniff. Cry.

Victor and I also had lunch at this fancy French-looking restaurant (it had murals of fall and spring in French on the sides of the wall). I had steak. It was dry. Then we had steamed hamburgers, which were surprisingly good, if not underwhelming for a lack of meat.

And so we leave another port. But Istanbul has its surprises. I didn't know I loved being a bitchy haggler so much. And who knew I'd find a guitar I'd love. But I definitely wish I found my way to Gallipoli, if only for a day. But that gives me incentive to come back someday.

Istanbul Day 4- I've Got a Gypsy Soul to Blame And I Was Born for Haggling

On Day 4, after lunch, we walked toward Hagia Sophia, one of the highlights of Istanbul... to find it closed. That sucked. But the Blue Mosque was right across from it, so we went there. It was big, and pretty cool. But it wasn't blue. It might have been a long time ago, but it isn't now. That sucked.

After that, we went to the Bazaar again. I tried looking for the Australian woman who liked my singing, but she wasn't around. So we went shopping again. Gabe and I both wanted to buy those awesome Turkish flag t-shirts, so we went to one stand that had them in a girl's fit. They told us it would cost 25 lyra. In my head I was like "Hell no!" And told him two for twenty. Then he gave me this spiel about how the shirt was supposed to be made in Turkey and therefore worth the money. I did not budge on the price I wanted. After some dirty looks and walking away tactic, I got the items at the price I wanted. But not before being called a gypsy. You know what? I'll take it as a complement. (The thing is, if you start at the highest price you're willing to pay, you have to play stubborn. You can't raise to meet the middle, otherwise you know you're overpaying. I am completely aware that I made no friends today.)

(I would like to recap things I've been called or mistaken as. 1) As a local in Spain by a SAS Student 2) As a half-black by the in-laws in Italy 3) As a student from Madrid in Greece (granted that's what I get for following Veronica...) 4) As a Samoan person from a teacher on the ship 5) As part-Chinese by Lea the bartender 6) As a gypsy. There's also the housekeeper lie, but that's my own alias. Who am I?)

We also looked at tiny metal drums, not unlike the one Amr plays at home, albeit smaller. There was this particularly good sounding one that cost about twenty five lyra I think, and ultimately we had it down to fifteen lyra. But Hang was like "ten lyra only" and walked away. When the salesman interrogated me about buying it some more, and why I listened to Hang, I said jokingly, "I love her anyway" as I walked away. (I must emphasize the word, jokingly. I'll admit I had feelings for her, but no longer. EDIT 8/21/2011: You can tell by the events that unfolded that this line was an absolute lie.) He came back at me with "Change your path." I'll remember that.

... Wait a sec, If I buy shirts at ten, I would've been willing to pay fifteen lyra for a musical instrument... oh well, I'm going shopping for musical instruments today with Victor anyway, so I got one more shot.

We also tried to look for kids to buy little tops from. Gabe and I were impressed by this one kid we met two days before who could have the top spin in his hand and on his head. Knowing the price that kid tried to sell me tops at, 3 for 5, I found another kid who I talked into selling at that price. It took a little more back and forth though, this kid was older. I figure it will be a nice gift for Rica, Katrina, and Kiko. Gabe also bought tops, but Hang was doing his haggling, and they got it at 4 for 10. ... Did my stubborn attitude get a better price than the notorious Hang? Glory be.

So really, the one thing to know with haggling is to go into the haggling ring with two things in mind- 1) What do you want. and 2) How much you are willing to spend for it. Do not allow yourself to settle for any price more than you are willing to pay for. And be willing to walk away if the salesman can't give you the price you want. Especially in the bazaar, if one salesman is not willing to sell you something at your price, odds are you can find it someone else who is willing, unless you're asking for something for free. You should also be a girl, my prices are low, but the smartest, most beautiful women could probably shave off two or three lyra. Though I would imagine that any dude willing to drop prices for a woman has an alterior motive, if not a fantasy in his head. It's kind of depressing if you think about it too much. Also, don't walk with white people with American accents, unless their beautiful blonde women or something. Then they absolutely know you're a tourist. Then you already lost.

On another note, don't buy things you don't need or want, and don't stop to talk to salesmen who don't have the things you want. If a salesman talks to you, certainly be friendly, tell them hello, ask how they've been, but simply show them your palm like a stop sign as you walk to politely indicate you're definitely not looking to do business. Keep your feet moving. One girl told me of this one SASer who stopped at every individual that talked to him, and they went through the bazaar at a crawling speed. Same dude also bought a laser pointer for thirty lyra. (They're so cheap in the Philippines I wouldn't even need to haggle, so it really made me cringe.) You're in the bazaar to do business first, socialize second. Keep to the task at hand.

Finally, we went to another mosque. Pardon my lack of eloquence when I try to talk about mosques, the differences between one mosque or another is difficult to tell with my Christian eyes.

In the night, we went back to the Blue Mosque. (Oh my god, really? This port has been such a downer with all the back-tracking.) We ate wraps of chicken and lamb. It wasn't the best preparation I had, it was a bit dry, and it needed sauce. But I also had apple tea with it, which is soothing for my throat, especially when I think I'm catching whatever everyone else is catching... This is what I get for being confined to a small ship with seven hundred people.

In an effort to cheer up Nijad, who had not been her smiling self after we left the ship, I bought this gigantic plastic lollipop. No, we couldn't eat the gigantic lollipop, but inside were a balloon, some crazy glasses, a mirror, and some smaller lollipops. Everyone had particular fun with the balloon, hitting each other. The lollipop might have done the trick, I guess Nijad needed some sugar in her system after fasting all day. It's really hard to sit on the sidelines helplessly while someone seems unhappy, if there's anything I could do to make someone feel better I'm always down on doing it. I'm glad I could help.

Oh, and Happy Ramadan!

Istanbul Day 3- A Prince's Island

On Day 3, we made our way to one of the Prince's Islands. Actually finding out how to get there was a bit of a hassle. We crossed the Golden Horn only to be told that the only way to the Islands was at another port on the other side of the Golden Horn. So we took the tram (oh how I love trains and subways!) up to the port, and jumped on the ferry.

 

When we got there, it felt ridiculously touristy. Right as we got off the ship, we could see row after row of restaurants and hotels. The combination of things we saw left me to think we were in some alternate universe with souvenir sombreros, Italian gelato, and greek food. We then proceeded to roam about the city, hoping we would either find a beach or the mosque.

 

After walking what felt like forever, we found the beach. But as I walked toward it, I was stopped by a Turkish man telling me that I had to play ten lyra to get in. Safe to say, we weren't down with that and left.

 

We finally found the mosque. It was a two floor structure, with one floor being for the men and the other for the women during worship. The men's was beautifully painted with intricate patterns and calligraphy, while housed under a magnificent dome. The women's was... rather plain, or at least from what I could tell in the window.

 

While there, we spoke to a Turkish man named ... Edgar? (That's how we'll remember it, it sounded like [aetgr]...) He kindly walked us through the men's part of the mosque, and chatted us up. He's an English teacher here, and his speaking was impeccable. He even took a class of his students to Washington, D.C. last year. He had also brought his family, including his four children. The girls in our group were particularly charmed by one of his daughters (I don't remember if he had any sons...).

 

We also were greeted by the head of the mosque. I know all of us are outsiders to Islam, but both Edgar and him made time to greet us and welcome us, I'm glad they are very open and welcoming.

 

We dropped by some horse-drawn carriages and decided to take a ride. It was fun, but disheartening knowing the horses traversed the streets we took forever to go on in sheer seconds. Also, we had somewhat of a daredevil speedster at the helm, so we kept passing other horses, which was fun. We passed through the island's national park area, which seemed quaint. I would've enjoyed having a picnic had I known of it.

 

The island has its charms, but I would suggest to not go if you end up in Turkey, simply because it can eat your money and there's enough to do in Istanbul that you shouldn't need to leave, I think.