Pictures Paint A Thousand Words - And Still One Hundred More

Words can create a thousand pictures, and now after one year you, reader, have seen the world in our words. For us, words reflect our experience, but with each new day something slips away into the realm of the unknown and the forgotten. For us, pictures have to write the words to our journey. At this moment, one year later we rely on pictures to speak of our trials and tribulations, to spark the stream of images in our minds not captured in pictures. What have we forgotten to say? What never made it to the page? What was once written in our minds, a chalkboard of stories erased that is now only visible in the remnants of chalk? Is there too much dust floating around in our minds to recall in lucid detail that we were ever really, truly there at all. And who, if anyone, can say if we were? The man in Brazil that spoke to us through his smile, the small child in Africa that held my back pocket in her hand, the monks in Myanmar, or the steps of Ta Prohm themselves? “We decree,” they say, “that Megan and Heather have tread here. We the towers of Angkor Wat, as a symbol of the universe held their feet in our stone hands, we carried them on our shoulders into the sky.” Pictures paint a thousand words, so here is what we never actually said.

Memories – sometimes we wonder if you can just grab onto something real and hold onto it forever. Has the lens changed? We think so.

Wide lens, soft focus, black and white. Adjust your lens…lights, camera, action. This is our tale.

Click on “Photos” under the links section of this page to see five hundred and five stories, the mere tip of the iceberg. Enjoy the voyage!

Twin Perspectives

December 7, 2005
Arrival in San Diego and Final Farewell

This morning we awoke at five o'clock to see the sun just kissing the glassy surface of the Pacific Ocean as we neared San Diego Harbor, though to say that we slept would be a huge understatement if lying in an excited knot of anticipation can be called sleep at all. It was as if someone had painted a bright orange stripe across the blue of the sky, bleeding like watercolor into the black of the sea at night. Breakfast began earlier than any other day aboard the Explorer and so after a rushed bowl of cereal, the waitstaff surely scrounging for the final selection of shredded wheat, granola, and frosties - nothing extremely palatable after one hundred days at sea - and our last glass of orange juice served by wonderful Mezraim, we made our way to Deck Seven Forward to find the prime spot for our arrival. At once questions started pouring forth. How far were we from the dock? When would we arrive? And the most important, for it meant the difference between seeing your loved ones after so long and wishing you had never climbed out of bed, for it would be just like missing the whole event. Which side of the ship would face the dock? It took some time, but common sense proved to be the best answer to this inquiry when several deck hands began preparing the deck five gangway for docking procedures, though we were originally told of the deck three departure So with luck on our side we clung to the rail in the chilly morning hours passing the cluttered shores of the harbor while standing on tiptoe to gauge our approach. After such a flurry of activity we learned that the San Diego officials and pilot were almost one hour behind schedule and were forced to stand our ground an hour more or risk losing our prized rail space. With a swarm of students behind us we don't doubt that they would have rushed the rail in our departure in much the same fashion as they flocked to the dining room on taco days.

Of course, all thought of anyone but yourself flew out the porthole when the cruise ship terminal came into view. We knew that seven hundred parents had registered for the welcome reception, but words could not describe the emotions to finally see a large crowd of moms and dads, aunts, uncles, brothers, and sisters after one hundred days, screaming and waving and everyone looking for that special someone. It may seem like a good idea to future shipmates to yell to "mom" or "dad" but it proved a most futile effort as there were hundreds of both, all swinging their heads from side-to-side in response to those familiar words. As we neared the dock and began our now-all-to-routine, but strangely different, disembarkation procedures we lowered our red beach towel over the rail with the words, "We Love You" in large white letters, though the word "love" was a gigantic heart and the "you" a simple "u" instead for ease of reading and visibility.

From the railing we glimpsed the row of cruise ships, the what-appeared-empty-soon-to-discover-tighter-than-a-sardine-can-upper level filled with parents, moms and dads, aunts and uncles, gandparents, brothers and sisters, all here to welcome us back to the states. Somewhere in the mileau of colorful signs, balloons, flags, waving scarves, and bizarre "easy-to-spot" objects were our parents we knew - dad wearing a red tie-dye University of Maryland t-shirt, red Terps baseball cap and Terrapin flag. We had planned this, the red. We held our sign, our fiery red towel with the words "We Love You" duck-taped to the fuzzy fibers. Nevertheless, where were they? Had they arrived early enough to choose a prime locale amidst the cluttered, cram-packed crowd? We skimmed the mass, red here, red there, a smile, a wave, none familiar.

Our peers, many too exhausted to arrive for that prime spot with moveable arm space sandwiched and pushed around us now that the time had arrived. From the moment the Explorer's hull kissed the concrete of the pier we didn't have to imagine what the school of fish fluttering their vibrant plummage of banners and signs on the sea of cement felt like squeezed side by side. Perhaps irritated at first, we couldn't blame them. We had waited one hundred days for this moment - reuniting with our parents, ready to share the adventure - and so had they.

At last we found them, but they hadn't found us. Pointing, waving, followed by more pointing. "Mom," "Dad!" The names don't work for as wonderful a title as they are, the pier was filled with moms and dads all answering to the call of their wingless sons and daughters on the ship. After many, "I don't see them. Do you see them?" comments on Heather's behalf, Megan extended her arm over the polished rail, directing our gaze to a large University of Maryland flag bearing Testudo, dad decked in his red and black tie-dyed Maryland t-shirt and mom in a bright coral blouse with what we could only assume was a brand new scarf. It took some time, a lot of arm swinging and acting like a complete goofball to finally attract their attention, but when our eyes locked we started to cry, and we could tell that mom was too, though she was waving her fluffly black scarf in the air with much enthusiasm. Sqawking loudly we must have sounded like a flock of strange birds ready to swoop down on our parents. Only we were without the ability to act on that behavior. Later mom would say, "I knew you would have a red sign, and I saw that red banner during the entire approach. In fact it was the most visible, but I just forgot and did't think it would be you." After seconds more agonizing than the initial panicked search, they spotted us as well. From that moment we spent the next painful six hours, at least, watching, waving, smiling casually, sitting near a window, becoming burnt in the sun for so many hours, waiting for the Bering Sea to disembark.

We felt ecstatic seeing them on the dock, and even more so when the first sea departed. Though by this time we had given up our spot on the rail after Bob and Betty waved to our mom and dad and directed Bob's granddaughter to our parents on the pier. We made our way to their suite for our final goodbye, hugging and telling our newly adopted grandparents that we would definitely see them again. Soon Bob and Betty emerged onto the pier, we watched as they collected their bags and went to greet Bob's granddaughter, finally waving to them in the distance as they climbed into a car and were off. On the otherhand, it was barely noon and not even two hours into the disembarkation, which meant more waving to mom and dad, crying, and eventually lunch. We had our final meal, both Mezraim and Ormond taking good care of us, Ormond with warm chocolate chip cookies and lots of hugs. So we soaked in the sun as we waved to our parents and found ourselves sitting in the Union one last time in view of the window and wondering if we were ever going to leave this ship. But by almost five o'clock we gathered our dozen or so bags, crowded into Purser's Square like sardines with our very anxious fellow Bering Sea Polar Bears. Amidst the goodbyes, a collective GROWL emitted from the bowels of the ship as "The Voice" announced the Polar Bears departure and the Bering Sea poured forth. We balanced precariously on our descent seeing mom awaiting us at the bottom, dad taking pictures, and Megan climbing back up the gangway for Chi, the now familiar name of her six foot Chi Wara mask bought in South Africa.

After such a show of talent and a smidgen of luck descending the steep gangway, we made our way to the forest and hillocks of Samsonite, North Face, and Jansport beasts still emerging from the great belly of the ship. Still it took some time, lugging and pulling to gather our four large duffels, though it felt a lot longer than it actually took. With our luggage in tow we walked the final few steps to the security gate and into the outstretched arms of our mom and dad. Mom was in tears of utter joy, but we will never forget the flood of happiness in her eyes. "Don't ever leave me like that again," she said between sobs, hugging us so close we could feel her heart.

Over a month has elapsed since the end of our voyage, and still it is too difficult to allow the thoughts and emotions to flow onto the page. We try to let them come naturally, but they do not. We want to write them down, but we cannot. We hope to summarize our experience, but hope is lost. We have yet to organize our twenty-eight giga-bytes of photos completely, but we look at the photos, unprinted, everyday. The only people to have witnessed these magnificent images are our parents, and one friend of the family. We now realize how impossible it will be to ever truly share this entire, incredible, wonderful, priceless...

Never would we have believed that a study abroad could be so well suited to an individuals interests, dreams, and desires to discover the world. Over 500 pages of text written since our departure from Nassau, Bahamas - a memoir, a journal, an autobiography of a wonderful adventure. A keeper. More appropriately, they document the journey, the good, the bad, the happy and sad. Even the not-so-good-at-the-time-but-laugh-at-them-later memories - dripping of sweat in the sweltering heat of Nueva Esparta's largest island, Isla de Margarita, ready to dump the innards of stomachs as we're churned in the thrashing of waves at Seal Island in South Africa, hot and dirty on a four hour train to Agra, and stuck on a bus for eight hours between Kyoto and Kobe, Japan. They all seem like such an adventure now. Adventure. What a great word, even the sound as it rolls off the tip of the tongue. Ad-ven-ture. What an adventure. Semester at Sea was perfect in every way. And we can authentically, veritably say that its an amazing opportunity to sea the world.

So, what's next. Well nothing so grand. We returned to the University of Maryland on January 22, 2006 and have resumed classes once again. Study, sleep, eat, study, study, eat, sleep, study, as Nana used to say. We have compiled a video, an hour in length to share with others. It will most likely be the only photos they ever see. Not many are willing to sit through that pleasant torture of ten hours of photography. We wish they were. In this video we have highlighted the entire trip, each port, each place, each moment. We have imagined ourselves making copies to slip under the doors of all the professors in the art history department, handing them to our roommates we have only just met, anyone who has heard a brief mention about our study abroad. And yet, even that would not be enough. We cannot fathom how others from the voyage are faced with the shock of re-entering the world of familiarity they willingly left behind. We are thankful to have not only the most incredible new friends from the voyage, but each other. Unlike others, we have someone directly involved in our life who has witnessed every moment of this adventure. We can share all of those memories,100 days worth - 2,400 hours, 144,000 minutes, 8,640,000 seconds. We can say "chocolate chip cookies" and recall how Slim Shorty brought us these wonderful treats warm and melty from the oven. We know it is Mauritius, pronounced Mar-ish-us, and not Mar-it-ti-us. We know Myanmar is Burma and where to find Cambodia on a map. We imagine someone inquiring as to the neighboring countries of Cambodia being equally as lost when told its next to Myanmar. Only after a sigh and we say, "That's Burma," does a light come on in the attic. Not everyone is as fortunate. So why is it still so hard to find the right words? But maybe we have already said them.

The familiarity of what we left behind when we began the voyage is what we strived each day to find while on the MV Explorer. Now that we are home, it is the familiarity of the MV Explorer we search in vain to rediscover. As we sit in the quiet solitude of the gallery where we work we are enclosed in a vestibule, a void, that only the ticking of the clocks on the wall seem to fill. They are a constant reminder of the seconds, minutes, hours passed since our return. Tick, tock, tick, tick, tock they chant in a syncopated rhythm all their own. Like caged animals we watch the bustle of the Student Union sally forth, each student set on their pursuits. It is quiet in the gallery. That is familiar. The quiet of the sea, of the ship, of discovery.

We want, we want, we want...we want what? Even being whisked immediately into the holiday season only prolonged the agony of finalizing our thoughts. Friends and co-workers would ask our parents what they were getting us for Christmas only to be shocked to discover not one gift was purchased, not one item under the Christmas tree, besides our new worldly treasures. They just did not understand, they didn't get it. We've just circumnavigated the globe, visited fifteen countries before our return home, over twenty-six cities, eleven flights, two catamarans, one train and eight hours stuck on a bus in Japan. What could we...would we...should we...want after that, the greatest gift in the whole world? Nothing. Nothing.

This is likely to become our shortest journal entry ever, compared to the novels written on a dialy basis. Perhaps it is procrastination, perhaps we are just not ready to finalize the journey. We remember a comment made by Tom Hanks as the conductor in the Polar Express, "The thing about trains... it doesn't matter where they're going. What matters is deciding to get on." The thing about Semester at Sea is...you may know where you are going, but it turns out completely different in the end. That's why we love to travel. Our twenty-first birthday is February 25th and we imagine saying it like Bilbo Baggins, "Today's my eleventy-first birthday!" It seems like such an important occassion, being the first since the conclusion of our voyage. Like Bilbo Baggins we have ended one chapter in our life, never to see the world of the small Shire again in the same light.

With our twenty-first birthday fast approaching we have made plans with our parents for a birthday weekend in New York City to see The Lion King on Broadway, and are making plans to visit Bob and Betty over Spring Break in Florida. Oh, we cannot wait! But even farther down the road, we graduate next December and then it really is the great unknown, though we do plan on a trip to the Mediterranean (Turkey, Croatia, Italy, Greece, and Egypt) or just sailing around the Caribbean on a catamaran and snorkeling just about anywhere. Of course, we wouldn't mind a return trip to Cambodia in the near future either. But if you take a trip to the Caribbean, look us up, we may just have our tearoom and be waiting for company.

We have ventured back into the West, a changed world in our view - of commercialism, wealth, and the divide of the haves and have-nots. We had a voyage of discovery. We had a chance of a liftetime. We had everything we could have ever wanted. But we saw the shacks on the hills in Venezuela, the favelas of Brazil, the townships of South Africa, the caste system of India, the sun over Angkor Wat. We realize that this above all, is the only thing we really have to say. We have witnessed both the beauty of this world and its worst societal problems. And like Haley Westenra sings on her CD, Odyssey, "And I never saw blue like that before, across the sky, around the world/You've given me all you have and more/And no one else has ever shown me how/To see the world the way I see it now/Oh, I, I never saw blue like that."

We guess we have written our tale: There and Back Again: Twin Perspectives.

Counting the Hours

Well Convocation is over, the luggage is stored below decks, and we have enjoyed cake with our adopted family in their luxorious suite. We have traveled, drumroll please... twenty four thousand thirty six nautical miles since Nassau, and have only a few mere hours to wait before we pull into San Diego. We are so excited that we are cruising closer and closer to mom and dad every minute and for the first time we are both in the same time zone. This is most likely our big farewell from the ship, but check back within the week for thoughts and conclusions. So long eighty eighth voyage! Drop us a line and we cannot wait to see everyone after we return to Maryland on Saturday!

Packing and Packing

The following is a shared journal entry:

December 5, 2005
At Sea

Now that family and friends at home have slingshot their clocks four hours ahead it is almost comical to check our blog and read comments with questions that have not even transpired yet. The dinner with Professor Smyth and his wife went wonderfully, though at the time Cherylie Girlie questioned as to its progress without it even having occurred. Professor Smyth commented on our remarkable essays and the wonderful joy he had while reading them, sharing the “gems” with his wife who was equally impressed.

In his words, his comparison, we are the equivalent of talented athletes. Those searching to recruit these athletes would easily pay large amounts of cash and scholarships. We have excelled, and over-achieved, on each assignment. His comments again, “Masterfully written, easily publishable.” They both enjoyed our journal snapshots with photos we have printed out, many along the same lines of the solemn autumn leaves at Himeji castle that mom thought so beautiful.

We attended our last sea meeting on the fourth surprised by the appearance of a large cake that read, “Awoo, the Bearing Sea, I love ‘em, I love ‘em, I love ‘em. Eating baby seals and putting the Bear in Bearing Sea since August 2005.” We truly believe that our experience would have been greatly different if we had not been on this sea. And we do “love ‘em.”

We are nearing the end of packing, taking a break to eat lunch with Betty and Bob, our “new grandparents” as they have come to denote our relationship. Afterwards we went to their enormous, kingly cabin, to swap and share photos. Some of the pictures with Bob are absolutely adorable and I cannot wait to share them with everyone at home. They are attending a faculty-and-adult-passenger-only tea party. Boo-hoo. But before our departure for them to prepare for their event they showed us photos of New Hampshire in autumn. We cannot wait to visit them at their home both in New Hampshire and Florida. They told us they had brought a gift from home, knowing they would meet someone special on the voyage. Too bad they did not know that someone would be twins. We opened our present, a beautiful glass paperweight in the shape of a globe, a small arrow pointing to New Hampshire, the flat face of the front etched with Betty and Bob, Fall 2005 Semester at Sea. We love having this beautiful and perfect keepsake of them. We also know that we will print many of their photos to put in a frame.

Tonight is pre-port for San Diego and before the final gathering there will be a concert performed by the gamelan ensemble. Bob is in this group and we will save a seat for Betty with us in the front row and film Bob during the performance.

I suppose this is the final posting for mom and dad as we imagine you will soon be heading to the airport. We love you and cannot wait to see your faces, Betty and Bob prepared to look for Mr. Maryland. Love everyone lots and lots, missing home more than ever. Anyone else out their in this silent, sad void send a little love our way as we head into the final day.

Pictures of Paradise

Aloha!!

Mom, thank you for commenting on our photography. We cannot wait to share all of our photos with you and you will be surprised to see hove many of them are quite artistic. Chris has taught us a lot, and it will be so much fun to tell the story that goes with each one. Sometimes you don’t even know what you are capturing until you download them later.

November 24, 2005
Happy Thanksgiving

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

It was back to the routine of classes today, beginning with Global Studies, ending with Anthropology of Tourism and Field Methods. Finally we were able to hand in our first ten page paper; Megan’s on Museums Studies and Tourism, mine on Conservation and Preservation of Cultural Heritage Sites. I have found that all of my assignments this semester are filled with so many of the same stories that I have written about in this blog and explore many of the issues that I have not. I cannot wait to share even these formal projects when I return home.

We have been watching student presentations in our Field Methods course and I have to say that, although they are entertaining and cover many facets of our port stays they strongly resemble the sort of slideshow that you would show family and friends after the voyage. My own interpretation of the project settled upon the presence of analysis and documentation of facts surrounding a narrow topic. Though I have chosen to write the ten-page paper instead of a ten-minute presentation it still embodies the core of the original assignment criteria. Fortunately I have completed the assignment that is in actuality due the day of the final, December 3, 2005, and have detailed the architectural features of Angkor Wat and the skill at which each material was utilized.

Megan writes, “It never quite feels like a holiday at sea, with no family, except for those who have come to feel like family, and spending the traditional meal with our adopted family unit managed to remedy any gloom from missing the festivities at home. It would have been wonderful to join everyone at the condo in Ocean City, Dad’s first visit since renovation, and experience the merriment of carving turkey, eating stuffing and pumpkin pie, afterwards followed by a TCBY. Just kidding, of course! Hopefully this new locale for turkey day will be a new addition to our yearly rituals.

With never a fissure between the perpetual A and B schedule, and the promise of another five-hour loss, classes on Thanksgiving was a bit extreme. For anyone doubting the demanding schedule on Semester at Sea, this should serve as a major paradigm of our daily routine. Heather and I managed to submit our ten-page essays to Professor Smyth who was pleasantly surprised to have received them much sooner than expected.”

The best part of the day was dinner, a traditional turkey feast with our adopted family. Indeed the crew went all out with turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and it would not be a day of thanks without pumpkin pie. We had a wonderful time chatting with our ship family over this feast and though we could not be at Ocean City it certainly did make the day feel a little bit more like a holiday. Before the conclusion of the meal Betty and Bob presented each of us with a small jar of New Hampshire maple syrup. I have never had syrup from New Hampshire, but according to our adopted parents it is to die for. We are going to save our golden elixir for homemade waffles this holiday season, though they promise that more can be sent. They have also invited us to their home in New Hampshire to show us around, though they will be moving to Florida during the winter and will return in the warmer months. Betty cannot wait to be sitting by the pool at their new house in Florida for the next four months. What a life!

Megan writes, “After a grueling timetable of events the highlight of the day arrived. With over 50 turkeys roasted and ready for carving, the Whittemore family situated around a large table in the corner of the deck 6 garden lounge, the atmosphere of familiarity and family surprised me. The doting parents commented on the attire of those who had donned a more elegant flair for the evening apparel, Heather and I with pin-stripe pants and beaded Indian shoes.

Though the meal was typical of Thanksgiving, it compared little to the delicious moist turkey and perfect stuffing at home. I found myself craving for an apple pie, apple crisp, apple cake, and then decided on chocolate chip cookie bars, cheesecake, snickerdoodle cookies, shortbread cookies, monkey bread, and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Of course, none of these scrumptious desserts were to be found and if anything in the kitchen should be functioning please let it be the stove.

Bob and Betty surprised the six “children” with a small gift, New Hampshire maple syrup! Naturally there is story behind this gift. From New Hampshire they have boasted of their superior syrup since the shock of a nauseating watery consistency offered in the dining room, sarcasm noted. Finally, we have our own little bottles of this ideal topping for pancakes, waffles, and French toast. WAFFLES! Oooohh, I want waffles. I guess you can tell it is nearing the end of the voyage.”

We have eight days until we arrive in Hawaii, and I have to admit to a loss of enthusiasm about our last port. I would like to consider Japan the final port; it just seems as if it will be a mini one-day vacation – the calm before the storm. Coming up this week is the Ambassador’s Ball on the twenty-eighth, the International Date Line on the twenty-ninth, and the Global Studies Exam on the thirtieth. It will be very strange to relive the twenty-ninth for two days and I look forward to seeing how it affects our clocks and those of our loved ones at home. Of course with the exam approaching every free minute is study, study, study, eat, sleep, as Nana would say.

Megan writes, “It is a long leap across the rolling sea, eight days, five hours soon to be lost to Father Time, the Ambassador’s Ball, and the International Date Line that will swing Maryland’s time ahead of us five hours, rather than the nineteen behind. Don’t ask me to explain, it will take a great deal longer than eight days to Hawaii for me to figure out this complex arrangement of “spatial anomalies” that have thwarted our nights of sleep. While the loss of time might suggest we selected the least enjoyable voyage on Semester at Sea, the opposite path gaining these hours instead of loosing, the order of the countries on our itinerary has been ideal. Each one has improved on the previous and I cannot imagine having begun the voyage with the ultimate language barrier of Japan and China, and their shopping mall cities. I suspect eight days at sea to feel like an eternity, but my love of the ocean will make this confinement seem more like seventh heaven, even with classes.”

November 25-27, 2005
Classes

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

B, A, B, or BABs as I like to say. This is the order of the days. Not Friday, Saturday and Sunday or the more precise 25th, 26th, and 27th of November, just B, A, B. And, needless to say, classes. We delivered our final essays to Professor Smyth and the journal snapshots project I have come to denote as my scrapbook of journal tidbits, photos, tickets, and currency. Undoubtedly he has quite a lot of reading to do, solely from Heather and I alone.

Heather writes, “Like I said before it is all routine at this point. We continue to watch student presentations in Travelers’ Journals and are finalizing the last travel article of the semester. As the last requirement is a comparison I thought it would be interesting to feature the removal of footwear in India, Mauritius and Japan and the underlying meaning – to preserve or to pray.

On the twenty-sixth we handed in our scrapbook journals. I am incredibly pleased with the final result, even adding the small poems that mom has included in our cards for each port. The only aspect that I would have liked to add is the currency conversion for each country to go along with the saved cash. It feels so good to turn in our field methods assignment and Professor Smyth made me feel that much better when he asked, ‘Oh, already?’”

You can almost feel the excitement for the Ambassador’s Ball tomorrow, people getting nails and hair readied for the event. The promise of a gourmet meal, champagne and wine, dancing, and a sneak peek at the voyage video and Chris’s photography. Even though Heather and I know he has posted several amazing photos of the two of us, we cannot purchase these prints until after the voyage, as per his contract with the Institute for Shipboard Education.

Heather writes, “Everything is winding up for the Ambassador’s Ball tomorrow night and we cannot wait to get all dressed up to take pictures with the Captain and all of our friends on board. Of course, it goes without saying that we are very much looking forward to the four-course dinner menu, champagne, wine, and the dessert bar. Perhaps we will have to dream of sugar plum fairies; I only hope that after three months that steak will not be too much of a shock for my stomach.”

November 28, 2005
Ambassador’s Ball

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

If there are classes on Thanksgiving then it should be easy to conclude that there are classes the day of the ball. With the Global Studies exam growing ever nearer on the horizon, much like Hawaii, I try to remain positive, although overwhelmed at the enormity of material I have to digest entirely if I want to get an A. This class has most assuredly, and surprisingly, been the most difficult course I have ever taken. It also remains to be the only course I will receive no credit from at my home University. It will merely pass as a lower-level elective, not something I need at this point for graduation.

After three classes Heather and I, clad in fancy skirts, arrived at our table in the Main Dining Room. Four other seats at our table, all people I have never met. We had hoped to be near familiar faces, but many of them had managed to squeeze into the later sitting at eight o’clock. As the time slot was completely booked Heather and I opted for the earlier meal at five fifteen. Two guys arrived in suits, both from Texas and the four of us waited, and waited, and waited. We raised our glasses during the Champagne toast, and then waited some more.

Heather writes, “We continue to study for our Global Studies exam, though I imagine that I will never feel fully ready. The amount of material covered is just incredible; my mind starts spinning just thinking about what we have discussed in class and what is too come these last few days for the most important test of the voyage. It will be such a relief after the thirtieth as Megan and I have no final exams. For our Tourism course we are writing the optional eight-page paper in place of the exam and for Field Methods we have opted to organize all of our photos into a presentation. This seems like a daunting task, but it will at least give us a chance to start on what many of you reading this blog will see upon our return. I know, now you are really excited.”

As cruise ship etiquette it is customary to not serve the meal until all individuals have arrived. These two girls were half an hour late. Regardless, when it became apparent after ten minutes that they were a “no show” our shrimp cocktail, onion soup, and Caesar salad were carried out, along with La Terre wine. Heather and I had purchased one ticket, as is the custom, for a blushing wine, and along with a glass of champagne and water became the potion for the evening. Along with the beverages, the food was ideal. The two girls finally arrived, unable to eat the three missed courses. The steak, asparagus and potatoes were absolutely phenomenal and well worth the expense of twenty-five dollars. After the meal Heather and I went to have our photo with Captain Jeremy before heading to the Union for the video and photo slideshow.

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

Megan and I chose the first seating at five fifteen, and in just a few hours the formal dining room was transformed into your typical white tablecloth, crystal goblets, delicate china, and waiters running around with loaded trays of shrimp cocktail. We sat with four other students and had a wonderful time. It began with a champagne toast, followed by delicious shrimp cocktail, French onion soup, and Caesar salad. Finally it was time for the main course as steak, asparagus, and baked potatoes were delivered to our table. It was wonderful. It is very difficult at this point in the voyage to see the ship as anything but a floating campus, a dorm, and a home. It is hard to imagine that this ship could ever be a cruise liner in my mind again, and certainly no cruise will ever feel the same after being at sea for one hundred days.

After dinner we gathered in the Union, swapping places with the eight o’clock seating and watching a twenty-minute clip of Sony’s voyage documentary, and a forty-five minute presentation of a small portion of Chris’ photos. It was very moving and the film was compiled exceptionally well, but I do feel that pictures speak louder than words. If Chris offers a similar DVD of photos it may be something worth purchasing. Near the beginning a picture of our duplicate carry-ons made an appearance and certainly everyone present laughed when they figured out whose luggage it was. Later Chris asked, “Did you see your luggage? That’s the day we first met!” I think that he is really excited about coming into San Diego and seems to be even more excited about finding us upon arrival. He claims he wants moving pictures; he knows that we are going to be a complete wreck when we see mom and dad on the pier. Oh well, it is a part of this voyage that would be fantastic for someone to capture on film. The slideshow also had a shot of us at the Olympics in our judicial positions ruling over the Spelling Bee event. It captures the moment so completely, Megan with a puzzled look and I whispering in her ear.

Megan writes, “Sony, the videographer, has done a phenomenal job on the voyage video; unfortunately I still will not purchase the DVD. The twenty-minute preview afforded some wonderful laughs, but only in such a company familiar with the ups and downs of our voyage would you find some of the sequences to be amusing or understandable. Chris arranged a forty-five minute slideshow of about four hundred images or more that were absolutely fabulous. Heather and I made an appearance during the Sea Olympic photos and our infamous carry-ons were featured in the beginning. It took several minutes for everyone to realize what the two red bags outside the ship were, later Chris mentioning, “It was the first time we met.” I might have to purchase this photo, just because it is the first day and engenders so many wonderful memories. Perhaps with some of my remaining Internet time I will check out his website again and try to find any other images from the Olympics, Halloween, and possibly the ceremony performed by Dean Tymitz and his wife Dixie.”

Soon it was time for dessert, but first the dessert had a photo shoot and Megan did a marvelous job capturing the savory icing, colorful sprinkles, and decadent chocolate creations. By the time we actually got in line it nearly spanned the length of the ship and took almost an hour to pick out a plateful of these tasty treats. Yummy.

Now it is well past midnight and the studying must continue tomorrow so it is definitely time for bed.

Megan writes, “Overall, Heather and I took a good amount of photos, I was going to type “thousands of photos,” but thought you might take it literally since twenty-five giga-bytes on my computer now house thousands and thousands of photos from our travels. Anyone want to see them all? I can only imagine some of the thoughts from people anxiously waiting to see photos and purchases. You better be ready because we are coming home.”

November 29, 2005
Another Tuesday

How to write about the same day twice, that is the question of the hour. On the first twenty-ninth we turned in our final articles for Travelers’ Journals and later received a ninety-five on the assignment, which we found placed on the front of our door. Bet you never thought your professors would know where you live. In class Professor Eastman distributed our grades, both of us receiving a ninety-eight percent on our presentations, and of course, an A in the course. We have adjusted our clock five more times in the last few nights, making it a grand total of nineteen hours ahead of home. Of course who knows what will happen tomorrow.

Megan writes, “Today is a B day, and with three more classes until Hawaii, it is back again to wonderful BABs. In Traveler’s Journals we handed our final articles into Professor Eastman. She later returned them to our cabins, a familiar “A” emblazoned on the bottom. I cannot wait to share these two-page articles from this class with others, as they have been a great exercise in focusing on the most crucial elements and being concise for an audience who may, or may not, want to hear a mass of details.”

Guess what? We went to bed yesterday and woke up today, Tuesday the twenty-ninth again! For those of you wondering it is just like going to sleep on a normal basis and waking up in the morning, except for the fact that you leave your little calendar on the same day instead of ripping it off. Well we decided to call home to see how that invisible bump in the middle of the night from the dateline changed everything. Time had stopped for us while everyone at home had been whipped forward, five hours ahead of us. Wow! Don’t try to figure it out, just accept it. All I know is that five and nineteen is twenty-four hours, so I guess that it makes sense. But what a change, we have been living in the time before you for so long and suddenly we are calculating what you have already done and we have not, like eating dinner or going to bed.

In Global Studies the theater class performed the Conference of the Birds and it was very well done. “Riveting, stupendipitous,” as Professor Murphy would say. It certainly made me think a lot about our own voyage of discovery. Perhaps this would be something very interesting to read when I return home.

Megan writes, “Everyone, and I mean everyone, was lined up in the dining room at seven o’clock when Heather and I arrived this morning. The cause, chocolate chip pancakes and sticky buns. Today the students who purchased during the Auction the right to choose the menu for a day have selected these treats and all I really want is my bowl of cereal. It almost seems like a movie where the days keep repeating itself in various simulations, each more unlikely than the previous. Heather and I missed our quiet morning at breakfast with barely a sole awake.”

We received our second paper back in Tourism and both received an A+, Professor Smyth writing, “A gem of a paper.” Needless to say, I believe that we are going to be getting at least three A’s. Studying has taken up much of out thoughts and time considering that tomorrow is the big day.

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

For lunch, hot dogs and hamburgers, French fries and corn on the cob. For dinner, tacos, nachos and cheese. It seems they opted for nothing but snacks and while I did enjoy my lunch, I was not about to repeat snacking for dinner. Heather and I decided to visit Manny at the snack bar for a noodle soup bowl from China and headed back to our room to study, study, study. Tomorrow is the Global Studies exam.

In the last Global Studies class the acting class performed a play that was quite remarkable, each one a different bird on a journey. It is written after a novel, which I would love to read. Later Professor Oaks read several poems, one from Juan Ramon Jimenez, the figure the Jimenez-Porter Writers’ House has been named for, as well as Naomi Shihab Nye, another familiar name from our residency at the house for two years. I cannot recall whether she actually visited, or her work was merely read, but I believe it to be the former.

November 30, 2005
Global Studies and Hawaii

We arrived in classroom four early, prepared more for this exam than any other, or at least I hoped that to be the case. I knew receiving 100 was the goal, the required percentage to receive an A in the class. Leaving the test site, I knew that to be far from the reality as three questions circled my thoughts. While I did receive an A on the test, a B+ will have to suffice. And I am proud of my accomplishment, knowing how hard I prepared and how horrible I really am at politics and economics, elements largely featured on the exam.

Heather writes, “Last night at pre-port we learned that Hawaii does accept US currency and credit cards. The conversion rate is $1 = $1 and we should have no problems with the language barrier. We will arrive in Hawaii early at around five o’clock and can disembark at around eight in the evening.

We took the exam this morning and I was shocked at how many of the questions I knew without a doubt. Of course there are always a few that get you. In the end I did receive an A, but not high enough. It is a good thing that they are not doing anything special for those students with 4.0s because it would be disappointing to be so close but not close enough. I guess that in the end I know how hard I worked and with all of the pressure of traveling and interrupted courses by port stays it is surprising that I did as well as I could have hoped. Three A’s and a B+ are nothing to be upset about, but a B+, if only I could have gotten one more question right. Oh well, I did see the world though, that’s what this trip was really all about.

It feels very good not to have anything awaiting us after Hawaii. I cannot wait to pack, lie on the deck, and relax. Of course journaling is a must, and I know that as we near the end that you are still patiently awaiting our tales.”

Little time to worry, but rather quite content, we pulled into the harbor in Hawaii. Oahu is absolutely beautiful. And while it would be hours before allowed off the ship it is comforting to know English is spoken, currency is the US dollars, VISA is accepted and the American flag has been hoisted at the front of the ship.

After two and half hours we have been cleared to disembark, immigrations a rather smooth procedure rendering my hope of an equally speedy disembarkation in San Diego, although customs could take invariably longer.

Heather writes, “We cruised into Honolulu Harbor at around four, passing through immigrations and leaving the ship around seven. The city is beautiful and there is this amazing little shopping area right next to the terminal with great restaurants, trees dangling with white Christmas lights and the trunk of palm trees wrapped in colorful twinkling bulbs. Several hula dancers and drummers greeted us at the dock and the Aloha Clock Tower was decked out in lights and enormous wreaths. It was simply beautiful but also a shocking change from the last three months. I wanted to cry with the emptiness of the streets and the cleanliness of the city. Everything is immaculate. We walked around the shops, purchasing two peanut butter buckets, think really big peanut butter cups, and of course some leis. We also passed a cute little shop, the Ukulele Company and I know that dad would go crazy if he could see all of the beautiful wood tones. We returned to the ship after an hour and went to bed for our tour tomorrow.”

The pier is just remarkable, and for an island celebrating Christmas the decorations are tasteful and augment the appeal, rather than detract with gaudy plastic candy canes or large Santas. Colorful lights are wrapped around palm trees, so perfectly I can only claim to be in paradise. After walking around the shops nearby purchasing a peanut butter bucket, not a peanut butter cup, but a bucket, we boarded the ship for much needed sleep before a full day in the tropical warmth.

Some clarification on the bucket, then. Mmm, Mmm, good. Imagine a Reese’s peanut butter cup enlarged at least six times or more filled with creamy peanut butter. That should be all the clarification necessary. And while selecting our chocolate treats we also purchased a Hawaiian exclusive beanie baby. These Ty toys, so cute, are difficult to stop collecting even years after your withdrawal from the mass hysteria. With palm trees on a light blue pattern, the small bear was just too cute, and too perfect of a souvenir to pass up. He can sit with the Washington D.C. exclusive and they will be the best of friends.

December 1, 2005
Honolulu and Pearl Harbor

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

Our trip left at seven-thirty for a short drive to Pearl Harbor. We have learned a lot about dissonant heritage and dark tourism in our anthropology course and thinking back Megan and I have avoided contact with any such permutation – Cu Chi Tunnels, the Killing Fields in Cambodia, the War Remnants Museums in Vietnam, and Hiroshima in Japan. Somehow it seems different on US soil. Even the fact that this is the United States of America seems mind boggling because it is so much like a tropical paradise.

The Arizona Memorial stood like a white bridge in the middle of the harbor stark against the blue Hawaiian sky. We leaned over the rail to see the gun turrets covered in algae and coral, little sergeant major fish the only officers still roaming the ship. It is so hard to imagine how this happened, and even more shocking that many of the ships were recovered. As we left the memorial black oil bubbled at the surface. We are told that the Arizona still leaks over two quarts of oil a day and that it cannot be pumped without the risk of igniting the fuel. It seems even more real standing in the white memorial with the names etched on the walls that over one thousand men were entombed aboard the vessel. I read the back of my ticket, each detailing an officer lost during the battle. Mine came from the USS Utah, the first ship hit by the Japanese, and Megan’s from the USS Enterprise.

Megan writes, “We departed early for Pearl Harbor, our tour bus of thirty-four reminding me of the same group from Kobe to Kyoto on the eight-hour nightmare. Mostly adults, it was nice to spend time with so many of them, Betty and Bob included. At Pearl Harbor we waited patiently for our number to be called so the ferry could transport us to the memorial.

A video was viewed and after leisurely walking around the complex and peeking into the gift shop we departed for the site. Groups only receive fifteen minutes on the platform and nothing, not one bag, can be brought into the area. With camera in hand, bags left on the bus, we strolled silently across the white platform, looking into the blue water to see the hull of the Arizona covered in barnacles and surrounded by sergeant majors. It was so amazing to look right into the water, the shallow harbor a perfect resting place for the ship. Black dots of oil and large swirls of rainbow slick surrounded the vessel still oozing more than two quarts of the liquid a day. And while they have attempted to remove the oil products from within the hull, it is merely too dangerous to do so as the diesel could explode with one small ignition.”

Afterwards we drove around the city to see some of the Polynesian palaces, though it was disappointing to remain on the bus as we drove past, even at the national cemetery for those lost during the war.

Upon our return to the pier, we left with Jen to purchase some souvenirs, though we were unable to return to the ukulele store. I really wish that we had gotten dad one, especially since he did not get an Afri-can or a drum, and no shrunken heads either. Okay, so that was never an option. We had lunch at a fancy little restaurant outside with pineapples carved on the chairs and table legs. Megan and I ordered a barbeque honey chicken salad with brown sugar walnuts. Fantastic! Later we did a little more shopping and returned to the ship to change for dinner. Once again we disembarked with Jen for dinner, a quick stop for leis to wear on our night out, and we found ourselves eating bruschetta, Hawaiian pizza (the authentic kind) and key lime cheesecake. Oh, it was so good. Then it was back to the ship around nine o’clock and watching as we pulled away for our final five-day trek to Sand Diego at ten thirty.

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

Several of the survivors have been added back into the innards of the vessel since their death, deciding to join their fallen comrades. This process surprised me but nevertheless I was touched by the friendship and devotion they have for each other.

After Pearl Harbor we visited Peach bowl Cemetery, unable to step off the bus onto to lush green lawn. Then it was onto King Thibaw’s Palace for a photo stop and back to the ship by one o’clock.

Heather and I, along with Jen, a student much like us, went to lunch on the pier, the restaurant decorated for the holidays. Heather and I ordered chicken salad, a mix between a green leafy salad and the mayonnaise blend of chicken salad. Augmenting the sweet flavor of the chicken were red peppers and brown-sugar roasted nuts.

Our meal was followed by shopping, some T-shirts and leis and back on the ship for an hour or so. We decided to meet Jen again for dinner, heading for the “Du-Claw” equivalent. The three of us decked in our leis soon found this restaurant had become ideal for many other SASers already seated in large groups. We opted for a quiet table overlooking the waterfront, sharing bruschetta, Hawaiian pizza, and a key-lime cheesecake for dessert. The key-lime cheesecake was awesome.

The three of us walked around a bit more after our meal, taking a photo with a hula statue, even pretending to mimic her choreography in a pose of our own. We attempted to stop at the music store, hoping to inquire about a ukulele for Dad, unfortunately we never made it to the shop as we leisurely strolled through the complex admiring Christmas decorations and the feel of the islands kissing our skin. Somewhat disappointed we boarded the ship, swiping our card one last time in the machine. I headed to deck 7 just in time to capture the horn on video from my digital camera, a task Heather has endeavored for some time to obtain. Of course, we would always be unprepared for its signal and this last horn from Hawaii will be a perfect memory.”

December 2-4, 2005
No Finals and Packing
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

As I have already explained we have absolutely no finals, so we have slowly begun the process of packing, and writing on deck six in the warm sun. Basically we have a five-day vacation before we arrive and we definitely deserve it.

Packing is going very well, though we are waiting for a few things to dry before we can add them to the piles of folded clothes. We had our last laundry day and sent everything we had worn, even some of the t-shirts that we had bought in port and decided to wear on the ship. Crossing our fingers that everything would come back undamaged, we were greeted with the largest stack of hangers and every single item pressed to perfection, not one wrinkle, stain, bleached spot, or run in colors. What a relief. I have no idea what to wear on our arrival. I am debating between a red Semester at Sea t-shirt, easy to see, or perhaps a bright pink “I Climbed the Great Wall” t-shirt. Oh well, not to worry. I will figure it out. We plan on attaching letters to our red Maryland Terp towel, probably H & M so that it will be easy to spot us anyway.

Megan writes, “As we have prepared optional papers instead of finals, the Study Day was spent journaling, organizing some photos and beginning to pack. We loose two more hours before San Diego and it is such a relief to be finished, finished, finished, with classes. How many students at home can say they have completed a semester? Now before you accuse us of a pleasure cruise, remember BABs and our everyday at sea classes.

On the 4th we will eat dinner with Professor Smyth and his wife. He requested a meal with the two of us and it will be lovely to sit and chat, especially since classes are over. At a home campus this might feel awkward, but the community aboard the MV Explorer goes so far beyond the teacher-student relationship. You see each other on good days, bad days, during adventures into foreign countries, and wearing bikinis on a catamaran on Ille. Mauritius.”

Professor Smyth has asked us to join him and his wife for dinner, an odd request if we were on a land based campus, but certainly not unusual here. It should be fun. Tomorrow we will swap pictures with Betty and Bob and we will have one more family dinner before the end. That’s all for now considering we are all caught up. We will continue to post small portions of new information, though are biggest fans will be flying down on the sixth.

Megan writes, “Tomorrow we will get together with Betty and Bob for a photo swap, we promised to bring a photo of Mom and Dad so they can be on the look out for them at them at the pier. Perhaps we will also play our cruise video from January. There will also be one more family dinner before our arrival in San Diego. I hope to finish most of the packing today and then be able to work on organizing the photos a little more. Japan has not been labeled entirely and Hawaii not even downloaded. Some of the editing has begun and we are entirely finished with Venezuela, Brazil and nearly South Africa and Mauritius. I suppose this task will take some time once we return home but I would love to have it nearly ready for those anxious to see the photos.

Counting down the hours…”

See ya soon!

Pictures!

Japan!!!

*Here is the long-awaited Japan entry. We are preparing for our return into the United States, filling out customs forms and loosing two more hours before our arrival. Hope you enjoy our journals; they still don’t seem complete but should suffice. Several of the photos at the bottom are of Betty and Bob, one from Thanksgiving dinner.

November 17, 2005
A Rough Day at Sea

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

Today has been the roughest day at sea since the beginning of the voyage. It is shocking to see the waves splashing our window on the fourth deck and even more surprising the swaying of the ship from port to starboard. I literally expect the ship to just stay on its side, but then it rights itself and the rocking continues. Because of the almost sheer impossibility of walking upright Global Studies was broadcast to all of the rooms, yet we made it to the Union in advance and I have never seen it so empty. Though I imagine it would have been very nice to be sitting in my cozy bed during class. This proved to be the theme of the day as each course we attended had about seven students in attendance.

Megan writes, “Our departure from China was marked largely with the Voices announcement to secure all belongings in the cabins, including the television. The question still remains however, when only permitted to use magnets on the wall, how do you fasten a swiveling screen that soon enough danced around in circles, twirling to the rhythm of the waves. The result, a useless set whose white cord remains unplugged from the circuit. While the seas were not as brutal as expected, chiefly owing to the Captain and crew maneuvering the craft behind islands on our trek to Japan, we were graced with three-four hour intervals of crashing and two-three hour lulls of subdued undulations.”

Luckily I have felt no ill effects from the intensity and turmoil transpiring on the other side of the porthole. Though Megan is still recovering from her cold and I seem to be battling the same, I guess we do share everything. Hopefully my voice will be recovered enough tomorrow for my presentation in Travelers’ Journals. Tonight is our Bering Sea Social in the Staff/Faculty Lounge but we are both so exhausted and have decided to hit the sack early in hopes that it will help whatever ails us. It is disappointing that we have waited all semester for this social only to be absent, but it really is more like a mini pub night for our sea and I do not think that is what I had in mind. I am amazed at the loss of energy and spunk that accompanied our first month and a half of the voyage. Things are just moving so fast and I cannot believe that in just a few short weeks that we will be leaving this ship to return home.

Megan writes, “With over twelve foot waves, only those brave enough to tackle the foamy surf, that is to say, relatively few, frequented classes. Global Studies for the first time was broadcast over the entire shipboard community, many students opting for cabins, and undoubtedly, a siesta or two. Heather and I sat in the Union, laptops poised on the small glass tables for intense note taking. Professor Murphy grasped the edge of the podium and swallowed deeply each time a large swell hurled the ship into a dive.

There were more or less five people in our classes, the other students who bring laptops for games and emails absent. And for once, the silence of keyboards was a welcome sound; or rather the lack of noise – as Professor Smyth played Chinese folk music from his computer to the slideshow of beautiful images from his stay in the region.”

November 18, 2005
Another Rough Day at Sea

It is just as rough as yesterday, but Captain Jeremy is hopping behind islands and playing a game of hide and seek with the currents to alleviate some of the discomfort felt by most of the passengers. Still I have suffered no motion sickness. Things are sliding around the cabin and even the television has managed to swivel three hundred sixty degrees and yank out the connection. The most irritating aspect is trying to walk without banging into something or someone or sitting and feeling at once that you are being pulled by the under pits out of the chair and then pressed forcefully back into the cushion. This is especially significant at night when I lie in bed.

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

The following day the ocean continued to engulf the MV Explorer, sending students back to their cabins for sleep. I’m sure Heather found comfort in the numerous empty seats in Travelers’ Journals during her presentation. Another student giving a lecture on the same novel, Fallen Leaves, refuted everything Heather had substantiated with evidence and support. I found her entire management of the piece was clouded with vagaries and ambiguities, as she had clearly not read the novel, merely printing out a list of Chinese superstitions and claiming she had interviewed numerous locals for these “perfectly arranged” tidbits.

Heather writes, “I gave my presentation today, though my voice was raspy, and I was forced to grab onto the podium on several occasions. I worked it out with Megan and Betty that if I were to tumble over they were to fall from their seats and say, “Wow! Did you feel that?”

Plenty of students are feeling the pressure of our arrival in Japan; manifest in the crowds at the computer lab frantically finishing and printing papers, apparently having remained awake the entire night to finish the task. I cannot imagine such a chore as researching, writing, and editing within twenty-four hours of class.

Heather writes, “The auction was tonight, though Megan and I did not attend, once again in bed early. We did see some of the auction on the television, and it is so shocking how much people spend. It makes me wonder who is paying for these items. You would think that after nearly seventy-five days that the cash flow would be significantly decreased.”

Tonight was the Auction to raise money for charity and I cannot help but be amazed at the prices the items sold; hundreds and hundreds spent on choosing the menu in the dining hall for the day, dinner with Dean Beverly, and steering the ship. At this point in the voyage it seems like everyone is running low on cash, but with the display this evening I imagine many will be digging into accounts at home.

November 19, 2005
Ceremony at Sea

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

As today is a no class day we spent much of our time finalizing some papers due after Japan and studying for that ever-approaching Global Studies final exam. Dean John and his wife Dixie held a ceremony in memory of one of their dear friends. On the Deck 4 fantail we gathered, a small group of faculty, staff, and students who had lost friends and family in the last few months. It began with the distribution of the most beautiful white roses and the singing of Amazing Grace. Dean John went to the rail, opened a blue plastic urn and out poured the ashes effortlessly. It was simply moving, the ashes almost soaring in the draft of the ship before dispersing completely. Like sparkling confetti it rained down into the surge of the deep. Then Dixie tossed a bouquet of white roses, at least a dozen, over the rail. Before they had disappeared in the surf many others released their roses over the aft. Of course there were tears, and Megan and I each flung a delicate blossom into the churning white foam of the sea. It has meant so much to me to remember the monthly anniversary of Nana’s passing and this was certainly one of the most touching memorials in her honor. The two roses vanished immediately, Megan and I welcoming the presence of our own urns around our necks.

Megan writes, “There is one day until our arrival in Kobe, the anticipation of trees flecked with colorful hues of autumn and cool, crisp weather planted firmly in my thoughts. Dean Tymitz and his wife Dixie are honoring a friend today who has passed away within the last year, his ashes to be discarded over the aft of the ship. They have invited faculty, staff, and students wishing to commemorate or remember loved ones. As the six-month anniversary of Nana’s death occurred several days ago, Heather and I will attend.

With beaded Indian shoes, an elegant white and black top, cashmere scarf and bronze urn around our necks we headed to deck six aft. John and Dixie distributed about six white roses to the other attendees wishing to participate, Heather and I holding our white flawless flowers in our hands. After a reading, Dean Tymitz took the blue frosted vase and dumped its contents into the turbulent whitecaps, puffs of the mushroom dust ballooning into the air before disintegrating and vanishing entirely. Dixie took the remaining dozen white roses and threw them overboard, their delicate petals ripped off in the grasp of the wind were sent swirling in circles before they too were tossed into the inimitable void of blue rolling fields.”

I have wondered how wonderful it would have been to return home to show Nana everything, tell her every detail, and how raptly she would listen. I am sure that she is eavesdropping, but it is just not the same.

Megan writes, “Heather and I joined the others in throwing our flowers into the depths of the sea, kissing our urns and imagining how marvelous it would have been to spread Nana’s ashes in this fashion with the family. I will never forget the panorama of blue sky and blue sea filled with dust and blossoms.”

We had pre-port tonight and learned that Japan does not accept US currency or foreign credit cards. This is the first port that we will have to rely completely on the currency of the country. I stressed a great bit during the beginning of the voyage about currency – how much to change, whether it could be changed back, and how many places would accept US dollars. Without fail, almost everywhere we have been has taken the US dollar.

Megan writes, “In our cabin, the bed seems to move slightly at night, me sliding down and then up with each surge. It will be wonderful to reach Japan and organize some of the disorder that has apparently taken over our quiet space. I look forward to the beauty of Kyoto and a traditional tea ceremony in the upcoming days.”

November 20, 2005
Japan

Today we arrived in Japan and received a five star welcome from the people of Kobe. As we cruised into port with the help of our tugs a fireboat sprayed water in vertical crossing fans, the crystal water glistening in the morning sunshine. Nearing the glass structure of the terminal the Kobe Fire Department Marching Band played loudly for our arrival in bright red uniforms like tin soldiers. It felt like a grand welcome stepping in time to the um-pa-pa of the tubas and the glass whistle tweet of the piccolos. We discovered this morning that the Internet and phones are both inaccessible during our stay in Japan and it is terribly frustrating not to be able to post blogs or call home.

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

Seventy-six trombones and one hundred and ten clarinets would not have been enough to rival the welcome we received in Japan. The fireboats spraying their water like gigantic fountains circled the MV Explorer, waving up at the crowds on the deck. At the pier, officers in red uniform played music continuously until the gangway had been lowered and the officers boarded to clear the ship for disembarkation. During the hours of checking passports, the port authorities made a presentation to Dean Tymitz and the Captain in the Union, bottles of wine and a Japanese sword offered as a token of friendship. A performance group hammered out the most amazing routine on beautiful wooden drums, polished to a high gloss. Every student was given a packet of four postcards and soon after the ships passengers emptied into the bustling metropolis.

Heather writes, “We exchanged money in the terminal and took a brief hiatus to walk around the area surrounding the port before heading back to the ship to work on our papers. It was, overall, a very lazy day, but tomorrow we will be going to Kyoto to see the gardens and temples.”

Heather and I took the opportunity of a vacant ship to complete some schoolwork, knowing the following day would be spent in Kyoto. With two ten page papers due after Japan, the Global Studies exam in over a week, and two optional papers instead of finals, we had quite a load on our plates. Luckily, the day was spent productively on the two papers. During a pause in our routine we went into the passenger terminal to exchange some money to the local currency. At pre-port we learned US dollars and VISA would be inadequate means within the country. A lengthy line gestured greedily towards our pockets and after an hour we returned to the ship feeling wealthier with more paper currency in our pockets.

With the rest of the night ahead, we continued work on the mammoth task of researching and writing, soon rewarded with the finalized essays. Heather and I selected images from our travels to fasten to the pages with photo corners and the papers were finished.

November 21, 2005
Kyoto

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

We woke up early this morning to pack our camera bags, straighten our hair and eat breakfast before touring Kyoto. We had hoped to purchase a phone card in the terminal, but were disappointed to find the small shop locked up tight. It is so frustrating once again to have no means to communicate with home. We left around eight o’clock with the sun beating harshly through the large bus windows. The highways are so smooth that you can write quite easily, as I have been doing since our departure from the ship. We drove through Kobe, sandwiched between the glistening silver waters of Osaka Bay and the orange foliage covered slopes of Mount Rokko. Because of the earthquake ten years ago Kobe is a new city, and it definitely shows, everything glistens.

Megan writes, “The creeping battalions of the fingers of Jack Frost’s army announced their victory cry this morning through the iced window of our porthole. Their flag rose high in defeat, I surrendered to the brutal regime, peeling off the covers of the bed and crawling to the closet for a sweatshirt. After bundling up in three layers, my lavender Pactec performance jacket and pink cashmere scarf, breakfast consumed, Heather and I left the ship to try and purchase a phone card but to no avail. Our location in Kobe has severed the satellite connection with the ship, translating to a loss of Internet and phone capabilities. I guess the rule at home, other than flexibility, should be no news, is good news. We are slightly frustrated, as we had hoped to post our journals from our stay in China.”

On our way, Rumi, the tour guide, taught us about so many things; that Nippon is Japanese for Japan, about the Sakura, or cherry blossoms that bloom in April, how to count in Japanese and read the characters for each number. It was chilly outside, but no where near as cold as Beijing, and the arched walls of the thruway were like a tunnel surrounded in an envelope of red cellophane dangling from the partially bare limbs of the maple trees. Kyoto is the ancient capitol of Japan, and the drive into the city was reminiscent of the warm jewel tones of a long forgotten era. Ruby, emerald, and topaz - we passed many Tori-i, the bright red Shinto gates, and within an hour we arrived in Kyoto at the Kiyomizu Temple. It is a Buddhist site meaning clean and limpid water. Once at the temple we wandered around, walking past worn pagodas, autumn’s brilliant display, row upon row of dangling paper cranes, and water features not lacking in the actual specimen.

Megan writes, “It is never pleasant to begin the morning with the congestion of morning traffic on a tour bus bound for Kyoto. Thankfully our tour guide took the wonderful opportunity to acquaint us with the Japanese numbers – you’ll have to ask me later as I am positive I would butcher the spellings. She helped our pronunciations of the various syllables, comparing the sound to more familiar English words. Her brusque English brogue made me smile as she pointed out the resemblances.

The highway is designed almost aesthetically pleasing with curved sound barriers protecting the entire stretch. There are no recurrent exists into the city side streets of Kobe, Osaka or Kyoto, thus with the heavily influx of traffic comes the slow start and stop of vehicles. After an hour and a half we arrived in Kyoto, traversing the winding streets with their small wooden shops and decorated windows.”

Before departing we had some time to shop, and once again we found ourselves purchasing tea, this time Japanese green tea, an absolute must, as we will experience this delicacy tomorrow at a traditional ceremony. Certainly we could not leave without purchasing Kiyomizu tea ware, delicate cups with an ancient gold patina. Lastly something for Shannon, she is going to be so thrilled when she sees this, and some delicate woven tea napkins with the most beautiful embroidery. I could have bought a dozen, and very nearly did.

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

Kiyomizu Temple hugged the base of the mountain, towering trees with new garments parading gown the slopes like a runway show were absolutely beautiful in sequins of russet, orange, cherry, and lemon hues. Their outfits were modern, the thin leaves like cellophane casting a diffused rainbow over the temple. I tried to envision myself in their delicate woven attire, but then a shiver ran down my spine reminding me of the crisp, cool air of autumn.

Inside the temple, a wooden platform projected from the side, its terrace offering a splendid vista of the gorge below. Small shops with vendors lined the winding labyrinth through the peak, selling small ornaments used as tokens for prayer. A large gong hung from the suspended rafters, a braided rope of colors extending to the ground – this cording so vivid and inviting amongst the rainbow of trees that I was overjoyed when a small woman came to coerce the gong to echo through the ravine.

Encompassing the temple is a hubbub of activity, little shops specking the street with everything Japanese. The most prominent, green tea, tea napkins and authentic Kiyomizu teacups, so fragile and beautiful that a particularly colorful, glazed and golden style was soon placed in a wooden box, wrapped in Japanese paper and added to my other purchases for friends and family.

Amongst these sweeping and lively lanes it is commonplace to have every item purchased wrapped in some sort of paper and equally sealed so as to prevent future peepage. From cylinders of various green tea and local crafts to expensive items, all become decorated art within a matter of minutes. With my packaged purchases I boarded the bus for Nijo Castle.

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

Afterwards we drove to Nijo Castle, an authentic Samurai palace. The grounds were beautiful and landscaped just as a Japanese garden should be with lakes, and trees, and of course, rocks. We entered, removing our footwear in place of brown leather slippers and padded around on shushed soles over the worn wooden floorboards. The nightingale floor squeaked under the weight of our presence, surely if any samurai lived they would know we were coming and wait for us behind some dark corner with a surprising array of weapons and swords.

The walls slide open to reveal the aged workmanship of leopard print and peacock inspired murals, the rice paper grid work protecting the room from the environmental factors outside. The floors were a highly polished black, though worn from the passage of slippers to a burnt ember.

Megan writes, “Within the confines of the gate, we were implored to remove our shoes and sporting only white socks walked into the interior of the royal complex. Squeak, squeak, squeak – the sound audible over tour guides and visitors relaying and receiving information is surely mystifying. The nightingale floor as it is called is a precautionary device – unwanted guests could be heard sneaking into inner recesses of the castle. The boards creak and crack under the mass of tourists, our feet turning numb on the cold planks.

Golden screens painted with elaborate trees and birds section off the compound into living quarters, no furniture, just mats on the floors. Outside is a garden with a small waterfall that cascades into the pond where a stone bridge sweeps across the center to a small island inaccessible to the visitor. The colors of the leaves are equally as beautiful, their voluptuous shapes swaying to the music of a winter wind.”

I would have thought that after nine ports and the conclusion of the voyage in the near future that a universal respect for other cultures would have evolved among my comrades. After entering the samurai palace and walking on the nightingale floor many of the students use their flash to capture the dark corners and fading golden screens. I guess that some things never change.

Soon we were on our way to the park for a picnic lunch, and certainly it was everything you could have every hoped for. We sat on low benches surrounded by the bright red leaves of the maple trees, a small pond filled with the quaking of ducks and the arched bridge from one side to the other ringing with the laughter of Japanese children. Our lunch was decent, brought from the ship, though a spot of tea would have been quite welcome to warm the insides.

Megan writes, “Box lunches from the ship provide the ideal opportunity for a picnic in the park. I don’t mind the prepared meal from the ship, a turkey or salami sandwich with cheese, mayonnaise and mustard packs included, Oreo cookies, Granny Smith apple, banana bread, and Capri-sun. Sitting near the pond affords wonderful scenery, however a local nearby begins to chant and sing, tapping his foot and swaying his hands, his voice worse than my own. Heather and I laugh, along with another Megan, our laugh becoming more and more hysterical as he continues unaware of his audience.”

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

It is quite cold and so we ate our lunches with gloved hands, pulling our cashmere scarves up around our necks. As the chill begins to creep into our abdomens and muscles we head back to the motor coach for Heian Shrine. The complex is enormous and equally as bright with its bittersweet orange and red columns. A little girl about three years old stands on the white gravel in a pink kimono, her hair adorned with accessories, and square flip-flops on her feet. A sibling takes her hand, and the two of them walk up to the temple steps followed by parents. The clip clop of small feet is followed as well by a dozen tourists sporting digital cameras. Like giants we must seem, following her movements, smiling, looking through lens of our devices, trying to capture her cuteness. The embellishments in her hair, the pattern of the silk kimono, and her perfect adorable face too appealing not to capture.

Heather writes, “After lunch we visited a Shinto shrine, also painted the brick red of the gates. The cutest Japanese girl waltzed around the courtyard in a vibrant pink silk kimono. She loved to smile and laugh, though as soon as our group spotted her she frowned at our advances and camera wrapped fingers. We held back from the group, and indeed as they left she smiled again, though undoubtedly caused by our identical presence. Her small little finger pointed toward us as a huge grin lit her face. Okay, so there are many advantages to being a twin, and the attention of small kids is definitely one of them.”

As the sun began its quest for darkness, never capturing the illusive moon we arrived at the Golden Pavilion. Reflected in a pool of water, both the temple and its mirror image glowed in the emission of golden streamers. The foliage surrounding the complex added to its magnificence, stately reds and fiery oranges competing against the golden walls.

As dusk overtook the sky, regal purple and noble pinks blending into the landscape, Heather and I made a brief pause at a shop puzzled by the appearance of strange tan wafers with powdery white confections. After opening a small bag and sampling the crunchy cookie, yes, there it is, COOKIE, COOKIE, COOKIE, I ran back to the shop to purchase, yet another bag. Later our tour guide filled in the missing details of this strangely delicious concoction, a famous cookie, here it is again, call Yatsuhashi made from rice powder and cinnamon and covered with powdered sugar. YUMMMMY!
And no, here is the prime example of where cookie does not begin with C. This lip-smacking treat will make an appearance in San Diego for those fortunate souls to be greeting us at the ship. Everyone else, sorry, no COOKIE! COOKIE, COOKIE, COOKIE!!!

Heather writes, “Our last stop brought us to the Golden Pavilion, how I longed to see its gold-leafed surface after glimpsing its presence in the pictures of Nana and PopPop. It lived up to everything I had ever imagined, and certainly autumn is without a doubt the best time to visit Japan. It is simply gorgeous. It would be hard not to capture a decent photo of the pavilion as its architecture is reflected back in the glassy surface of the lake, its gold leaf glowing in the harshness of the setting sun. I am conflicted between feeling utterly alone and completely surrounded by Japanese tourists. Every time I pose for a snapshot in front of the pagoda the crowd parts like the red sea to clear the frame. The people are so respectful and I am touched for once by a complete reversal in tourist behavior, separate from the pushing and shoving of my peers.”

It took two hours to make our way out of Kyoto and onto the highway, a nightmare I never want to relive. But the best was yet to come. An accident and car pile-up had caused the entire, let me repeat, ENTIRE, highway to close and as those ridiculous sound barriers that appeared so contemporary and ingenious earlier, offered no outlet from the eight-hour hell we were left with only six spare boxed lunches and no restroom. What ensued was about three hours of sleep, on and off, snacking on extra sandwiches and apples that the majority of the bus loathed earlier in the day but soon found themselves competing for every last morsel and trying to laugh at light conversation, mostly about missing dinner. From four o’clock to twelve fifteen, midnight, yes midnight, we sat on a bus, not moving one inch, one centimeter, one millimeter or one nanometer. Not moving at all, we finally returned to our sanctuary on the ship after eight hours of agony to a table of pizza prepared by the crew at the snack bar. Never again will I take a one-hour bus to Kyoto, next time, the train.

Heather writes, “At four o’clock we boarded the tour bus for our journey back to Kobe, a ride of about one hour, though certainly no more than two. First, it took two hours to simply reach the freeway. And oh what was in store for us! One hour, two hours, three hours, four, all spent in the exact same spot – not moving even an inch! “Traffic” we were told, “most likely an accident. It could be two hours if it is just an accident, more than six if someone was killed.” Time ticked by slowly, Megan and I taking small naps and writing in our journals. Now that I think about it we could have played tic-tac-toe or hangman. When we started to move the bus exploded with applause, though it was short lived, only lurching forward several feet before halting again. It went on like this for nearly two more hours before we moved again, at last driving slowly, inch upon inch, foot upon foot up the road. We slept at least three hours curled up in our seats, it could have been more. Though by the time we began to move freely it had been nearly eight hours stuck in traffic and our six o’clock return to the ship had become half past midnight!

How wonderful it was to see the Explorer and after swiping our cards to see a table full of pizzas for our return from the dining staff. As nice as it was we each ate one slice and then crashed. Tomorrow we have an early wakeup for the tea ceremony, but a good cup of tea is definitely what I need right now.”

November 22, 2005
A Traditional Tea Not to Be

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

Reporting to the first floor of the terminal at eight thirty we waited, and waited, and waited for the appearance of our tea master, but to no avail. It just seems that nothing is meant to be in Japan. The trip was scheduled for nine and so as nine became nine fifteen we had to make a decision. Wait for the small possibility of tea, or leave with another trip for a day of unexpected visits and plans, but at least a trip somewhere. We chose the certainty of a field program and left with a small group of about twelve to Kobe University and Himeji Castle.

We took the port train into the city, completely unsure of our itinerary, heading for Kobe University. After the train we hopped a bus to the campus and arrived on the grounds of a tree covered lawn and the student union. The leaves are amazing. It makes me wish for warm cider, a good book, and a cozy corner to crawl up in. It is so peaceful and the campus reminds me of Maryland. How strange it will be to return next semester to the home of the Terps.

Megan writes, “I considered calling this entry something more appropriate like Kobe University and Himeji Castle, or some catchy aphorism about a non-existent tea ceremony, but alas no such cleverness came to my thoughts. But yes, the tea ceremony was cancelled and in an attempt to rectify the day Heather and I along with three or four others from the termination of the tea party joined the only other tour to Kobe University and Himeji Castle in what I believe most undoubtedly was meant to be, as I cannot imagine my stay in Japan to have been complete without these two visits.

We purchased tickets for the train, a thankful reprieve from tour buses, and arrived at Kobe University. I think I have developed a phobia to this sort of transportation. Nestled amongst the hills and rich foliage, the campus spread up and out, tall buildings with many floors. Our guide, a professor at the university took us to observe the ballroom dancing group at practice in the main building, afterwards followed by a walking tour in the pleasantly cool, but warm, morning. In his classroom we spoke with other students. I conversed with two girls who asked a million questions about the United States, Semester at Sea, and of course, shopping. All the female students on the campus seem to carry around shopping bags, not just plastic crinkly ones, but rather, fancy cardboard bags with silky handles. I asked them if they just brought their purchases from shopping to class with them, their reply, ‘It is easier to carry a change of clothes in.’ Well, I guess if that is what works, great. It seems to be a statement at the same time, an advertisement of sorts and I cannot imagine the University of Maryland with this added element.”

The professor introduced us to his students and we spent the next hour talking with them about our trip, our school, and our home. I conversed with two guys about university life in Japan. He asked if I have seen the red leaves in Kyoto and what it is like at home. “It’s about the same. The leaves are changing color and the weather is getting colder. Pretty soon it will snow.” He was surprised and excited about the color of leaves. “What do you call them?” he asked. “Autumn leaves, I suppose,” I responded. “What color…autumn…leaves?” I told him that the leaves are golden yellow, fiery orange, and crimson red. “Red? I thought only Japan had red leaves!” I was sorry to tell him that he is not the only one with red leaves.

Afterwards we proceeded to the dining hall and the infamous plastic menu. You don’t have to know Japanese to order, all you have to do is point at the dish and it appears in a less plasticized version. We savored a warm broth and rice before emerging back into the chill of autumn and heading for Himeji Castle.

Megan writes, “Around noon we ventured into the cafeteria for lunch, sticky rice and soup accompanied with oolong tea. Their dining hall reminds me a lot of Maryland, although here the point method seems to work well behind the language barrier.”

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

Back on the train for forty minutes to Himeji castle I slumbered with the help of the sandman, waken by Heather minutes before our departure from the speeding shell. The castle atop the mount looms over a park with exposed trees, their foliage of scarlet, crimson, cherry and burgundy filling the stone chiseled ditches. Like a path of breadcrumbs the red foliage speckles the walk up, up, up into the labyrinth of the wooden structure where we remove our shoes, replacing them with brown slippers. Seven flights up and consumed by the wooden behemoth we look out into the private grounds of the castle that converge with the city center, all mottled with the shades of autumn and the frosty cool, nippy, but brisk, air of a day in winter.

Heather writes, “Himeji Castle stood white against the bluest of skies and the delicate needlework of the veined autumn leaves. Entering the seven-story complex we removed our shoes and placed brown leather slippers on our feet. It made it difficult to traverse the worn varnish on the wooden planks and the narrow steps, but it was well worth the effort to the top and the far more authentic feel of the ancient castle. It is painted in a splendid white and as we approached from the footprints of the city and Christmas decorations the orange leaves provided a perfect backdrop for imagining the samurai of old reigning from the castle.”

Himeji remains as impressive in my mind as the Taj Mahal, a site where The Last Samurai was filmed and being the original wooden palace, quite a gem. Perhaps what is most impressive is its location. It is so commanding within the city, easily at the highest peak so that every eye is directed to its beauty. It was also not frequented by a large mass of tourists, making it more enjoyable than other locales of architectural and historical importance.

Heather writes, “We spent over an hour at the castle before walking back to the train station. We were originally going to take the bullet train, but when the majority of the group heard how expensive it was they backed out. I was slightly disappointed, but nevertheless we returned to Kobe and remained in the city with Emily nearly forty minutes later instead of only ten. Our first stop was the Sogo Department Store and its food court in the basement. I say food court in the loosest sense of the word; it was more like a market of wonderful food. We were evidently starved for desserts and found ourselves picking out several items from a bakery that were absolutely delicious – a huge marble chocolate muffin, flaky chocolate pastry, and two donut like things covered in sugar. We had not even eaten dinner.”

Heading back to Kobe, Heather and I opted to remain in the city center with Emily to do a little shopping and eat dinner. Of course we soon found ourselves smack in the middle of four malls. Not one, not two, not even three, but four! Perhaps there were more than four, but the easiest way to access the situation is to claim that the whole of Kobe is indeed a mall. Not pleased with the absence of markets we went to the ground floor of Sogo Department Store where the smell of pastries and other delectable meals were being prepared. We skipped right to desert when we came across a shop filled with sugary “doughnuts” and gooey pastries. From this feast we walked around a little longer before heading to a Panera Bread equivalent for some soup.

We returned to the ship, darkness enveloping the city, and found ourselves quickly asleep in the comfort of our cabin.

Heather writes, “We were hoping to find traditional handicrafts, but we have left the realm of markets for the world of malls, and Kobe felt like one huge shopping district, each block another mall. We stopped at a small soup restaurant and had a bread bowl filled with soup before purchasing a few goodies from a mini mart and returning to the ship. The receipt was written in Japanese script, though the lesson from Rumi on numbering proved very beneficial as Megan and I pieced together the bill. We returned to the ship after dark satisfied with our unplanned day at least.

Tomorrow we plan to remain on the ship to finalize papers.”

November 23, 2005
MV Explorer

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

We certainly enjoyed sleeping a little later this morning, followed by the somewhat less enjoyable process of editing and printing essays. It took almost all day, but we have finalized all of our assignments, leaving plenty of time to work on the daunting task of photos and journaling. We still do not have Internet service, which means it will be quite some time before we post on the blog.

Megan writes, “Having spent a good deal in Himeji, Kobe, and Kyoto we were more than ready for a respite. We opted again for a day on the ship, only going into the passenger terminal to exchange a small amount of currency back into US dollars. The extra coins we decided to spend in the vending machines on drinks – water, some soda, and tea.”

We did venture out to the terminal to call home and enjoyed hearing about plans for the holidays and updates on the kitchen remodeling. It was so nice to talk for an hour instead of the thirteen minutes that we are usually allotted on the ship.

It is back to sea tomorrow on the long trek to Hawaii filled with exams and studying, Thanksgiving, and the Ambassador’s Ball
.
Megan writes, “It seems as if I am quite behind on organizing photos and journaling, unfortunately it will have to wait as we lose five hours during the seven days to Hawaii, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and November 28th is the Ambassador’s Ball. We departed for Hawaii, a crossing of seven days, but a return to the familiar.”

Stay tuned for more tomorrow about these special events and our time in Hawaii.