Tuesday, December 06, 2005
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!
Monday, December 05, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
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!
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!
Saturday, December 03, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Departure from San Diego
Sorry about the delay in posting, but we have been very busy so expect new stuff in the next couple of days. We have adjusted our clock 19 times since the start of the voyage and until yesterday we were 19 hours ahead of home. But…the date line. Now you are five hours ahead of us, you do the math. We woke up today and it was Tuesday, November 29 for the second time. Here is the long awaited order of departure determined by a drawing. I guess we can wave to each other for several hours.
Order of Departure from the ship in San Diego:
1 – Aegean
2 – Vitamin
3 – Arabian
4 – Red
5 – Yellow
6 – Mediterranean
7 – Bering (That’s us!)
8 – Caribbean
9 – Baltic
Everyone could be off as early as 2:30 or it could be later. Since we will have already done immigrations it could be faster, but we shall see.
Order of Departure from the ship in San Diego:
1 – Aegean
2 – Vitamin
3 – Arabian
4 – Red
5 – Yellow
6 – Mediterranean
7 – Bering (That’s us!)
8 – Caribbean
9 – Baltic
Everyone could be off as early as 2:30 or it could be later. Since we will have already done immigrations it could be faster, but we shall see.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
One World, One Dream...China
Happy Thanksgiving!! As you may have guessed by now the MV Explorer was without Internet or phone service during our stay in Japan. So here is the long awaited trip in CHINA!! Things are winding up as the voyage is winding down and we are incredibly busy, especially with losing one hour for the next four nights, right now after the first adjustment we are 15 hours ahead of home, but not for long. Please be patient with our Japan posting, we will do our best to keep something new up but it is likely that the majority of Japan may not be complete before Hawaii. Stay tuned and enjoy…
November 12, 2005
Hong Kong
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We cruised into Hong Kong this morning with the sun bleaching the towering peaks of the skyscrapers platinum silver. I feel as if this trip is almost at an end, and indeed it was interesting this morning to return once again to a more Westernized atmosphere. Although we were due to arrive at around eight o’clock we did not actually disembark the ship until around twelve thirty. I was surprised to learn at first that we are not actually docked on Hong Kong Island, but on Kowloon, and will have to take the Star Ferry across the harbor to the city, which means inevitably that Megan and I will only see the city of Hong Kong from a distance.
After the ship was officially cleared Megan and I sprinted off into the port terminal in hopes of finding souvenirs from Hong Kong, though we were even more shocked to find high-end designer shops, and instead purchased a bag of Berry Blue and Pink Grapefruit Jelly Beans for our flight to Xi’an. Soon we were running out of time and in a desperate search for memory sticks. At long last, nearly out of time, we discovered an electronics and camera store and bought a 1 GB each for our digital cameras. At least we did not have to pack a laptop, and once again we are pleased with our packing and the enormous amount of room left in the bags for our shopping in Mainland China.
At three o’clock we grabbed our bags and headed to the Union to fill out ever more forms and catch the bus to the airport. Our group is quite small considering the size of most trips during this voyage, and Betty and Bob, Martin, Professor Jacobs, and her husband will also join us. The airport was enormous and filled with so many shops. Disneyland Hong Kong just opened in September and so we were extremely excited about the small shop selling apparel and souvenirs. We also bought a couple of treats at a candy store, though for gift purposes my lips are sealed.
Megan writes, “Coursing up, yet another, river into the hum of a sizeable creature; this living city unparalleled with those of Myanmar, India, and Vietnam. The reflections of modern skyscrapers in the waterway echo in reverse the various angles of the buildings, fashioning a continuous loop of mirrored facets from the architecture. Shopping is everywhere, to the left shop windows, to the right vendors, in front a mall. After anxious anticipation and the passage of the morning hours, noon approaches and Heather and I disembark. In the ocean terminal, a shopping precinct among many, we find the electronic stores. Our mission, two one giga-byte Sony memory sticks for our cameras. In under an hour we successfully clutch our purchase of the two sticks and a bag of pink grapefruit and berry blue jelly-belly beans.
Back aboard the MV Explorer we organize the last minute purchases into our carry-on bags and small daypacks. The bags seem light, a good sign as the forecast entails lots of shopping. After three o’clock we exit the innards of the comfortable, mystical animal that has become our home for the airport.”
Before boarding Megan and I ordered a bowl of noodles, mostly because we were not sure what dinner would bring, but also because Megan has been feeling under the weather. We boarded our flight at six o’clock for a two hour and twenty minute journey to Xi’an. The weather in Hong Kong was much warmer than I had expected, perhaps in the eighties, but upon our arrival in Xi’an we were quite cold and wrapped ourselves in several layers with a windbreaker, and Isotoner gloves.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
If the streets of Hong Kong were hectic, it is likely that half the population has filled the airport terminal in search of baggage, departure gates, and, of course, shopping. We find a store for Disneyland Hong Kong, the theme park having just opened in September. Everything says Grand Opening and it is unusual to look at the merchandise and conclude on the popularity of certain movies over others, of certain characters, and certain items. Mostly toys adorn the walls, and children’s clothes. Several T-shirts for adults are on a low white table. The wall opposite the register has Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy and Pluto. Either Goofy is so popular the supply of stuffed Goofy’s has been depleted or he is not a part of the repertoire. Daisy, this surprises me, and along with several other purchases, the sweet little face of Daisy Duck accompanies me to the register. Their features are expressive, larger heads than bodies, black almond eyes with thick upright lashes. Minnie and Daisy have bows that lean to the side, their little hands jutting from plump little frames.
The flight takes two hours and twenty minutes, a span of time that feels like eternity. The arrival in Xian is marked with as much paperwork as our departure, stamping of passports and a health examination. As I have been nursing a cold, I dreaded the temperature check. I turned in the health card, having left every option unmarked. My feet line up with the yellow model on the floor and seconds later I can pass.
We transfer to the hotel, a decent accommodation, and after a shower quickly fall asleep.
Heather writes, “Landing in Xi’an the city was lit like a Christmas tree, even the highway was outlined in dotted blue lights as we drove to the Jianguo Xi’an Hotel. It is comparable to every hotel we have stayed in during the course of the semester, with the exception of the rooms being perhaps a little bit more comfortable and a tad bit more plush.”
November 13, 2005
Xi’an
A bitter morning greeted us when we departed the hotel for our tour. Heather and I clothed in three layers with gloves. Another student mocked our attire, both of us so annoyed with the student from previous trips we made our feelings known. Always willing to ignore or laugh off his comments, it is refreshing to point out when he says he is not laughing at us, but rather with us, that it is just the reverse. He will be sporting gloves before too long!
We arrive at the Big Wild Goose Pagoda, an amazing complex with smaller buildings surrounding the seven-tiered pavilion. Many of the surfaces are covered in a weaving of vines, some with colorful auburn and reddish leaves. Drainage ports extend from the building in the shape of dragons, peaking through the blanket of foliage. The trees are so beautiful, exposed from their summer garments, limbs naked and bare, fragile leaves dangling from several twigs in golden hues. Two marble elephants are at the rear of the complex, and as this is the thirteenth we take a moment to remember Nana. A table has four concrete stools in the shape of elephants as well. Every country since Africa has ornamented shrines and temples with elephants and it has become a welcome reminder of how much I miss her, oftentimes still feeling I am at College Park and will return home for a weekend to visit.
Heather writes, “We woke up early this morning for breakfast at the hotel before departing around eight thirty for our tour of the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. It felt so cold outside that it made me wish that much more for snow and a hot cup of cider. Though the morning news did announce that it is snowing in Kobe, I was surprised that small white flakes were not drifting from the heavens in Beijing or Xi’an. We had about one hour at the pagoda and the tranquility of the gardens with the Asian architecture, the orange leaves of fall and the whiteness of the sky have made it that much harder to be away from home. But what a change from the sweltering heat of the previous ports. I love it! Throughout the complex you could hear traditional Chinese music and even in the gift shop they had an enormous array of compact discs. The shopkeeper was even generous enough to play some for us before we purchased, and made some fantastic suggestions that I cannot wait to enjoy back on the ship and upon our return to the States. I just know that every time I hear the traditional Chinese music I will think of this place and the peace that it imparts to the world. The central pagoda rose in seven tiers with green trees surrounding its base and stone elephants frozen in time matching the majesty of the open landscape.”
With the nippy curls of air spiraling through the garden paths encompassing the structure, it is a refreshing relief when we approach an outside vendor for some hot tea. He opens the various jars, trying to translate the Chinese block letters into something more familiar. “Oooo-llong,” he says, in a clipped English accent. We settle on the aromatic smell of these leaves as he scoops three small spoonfuls into plastic cups. Adding hot water we thank him and wrap our frozen hands around the vessels for warmth. The leaves of the oolong begin to open, unfurling themselves into a large heap. The steam rising from the cup brings a rosy-ness to our cheeks and a slight pinkish color to our noses. I wonder if Jack Frost is behind this weather? After coming from Vietnam and Cambodia where the temperatures were easily in the nineties and hundreds, even Hong Kong around eighty, the gray sky and frigid air reminds me of home.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Before departing we decided to purchase something hot to wrap our gloved fingers around and found ourselves at a small shop pointing to cups and jars of tealeaves. Though the man spoke no English he filled two cups with steaming hot water and two spoonfuls of small green pinwheels that we have come to know as oolong. I half expected him to scoop out the leaves, but they just floated in circles around and around and around the cup. I have never in my life had such a wonderful cup of tea. It tasted superb – I don’t know if it was the fresh leaves, the continued steeping, the joy of watching the small spirals unfold, or just that it was so cold outside, but I could definitely tell that others envied our ingenuity and wished they too had a cup of warm tea to partake fully in the experience. It was such an amazing morning wandering around the pagodas and sipping tea. I know that my whole being was warmed as I drained the glass.
Our next stop brought us to the Shaanxi Provincial Museum where we saw many of the cultural relics of the Dynastic periods, including the tri-colored figures, and our very first glance of things to come – a terracotta warrior and chariot. In the gift shop we met a woman from Maryland on a tour of China, and it just goes to show that it really is a small world after all. Even her daughters went to Maryland, and it was so much fun to talk about Semester at Sea. Of course we had to purchase tea, and the museum had the freshest selection we have seen and some pretty awesome choices, green definitely making the list of four that we could not live without. Our last purchase was really more for comfort and added warmth in the chill of the city, and so we were so happy to wrap a cashmere scarf around our necks to face the ever-colder temperatures outside. How soft and cozy they made us feel, and all day they certainly served their purpose.
We had lunch at Rongshengzai Restaurant and sat around a round table with a lazy susan. They brought so many dishes to the table, though the sweet and sour pork over rice was my absolute favorite. Megan and I have been trying to master the art of chopsticks and perhaps by the time we reach Japan we may be able to pick up a large piece of meat, maybe being the key word. The restaurant was very cold and so we were glad to be back in the courtyard and walking into a workshop that produces the terracotta replicas. It was so much fun to see the kilns piled with figures and to take pictures in line with the life-sized replicas as if they were real; it was a blast to stand in line surrounded by the warriors and the pictures are quite funny. I had only ever imagined that I would buy one of the smaller replicas, perhaps for my shadow box, but upon seeing all of the sizes and variations we each chose two of the larger ones to use as bookends. I can see them in my very own type of a curiosity cabinet one day along with my Akua-ba and other worldly possessions.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We leave the serene of the compound, the music from strategically placed speakers, traditional Chinese melodies, fades as we reenter the bus. We depart for the Shaanxi Provincial Museum. It is difficult to understand the artifacts inside the glass vitrine. Everything is written in Chinese. Is this gold disk before me currency, a button for emperors clothing, or an oddly shaped key for a secret chest? Ceramic figures line another wall behind the glass, most tri-colored in green, blue, and gold. I wonder if I am digesting any of the artifacts and their significance, as they do not warm to my gaze. Their response to me is as distant and cold as the weather outside, we seem not to understand one another and I would much prefer the instruction from a guide if the time were available.
In the souvenir shop a women opens jars of fresh tealeaves for me to smell, their aroma so wonderful that when I close my eyes I am welcomed with images of boiling teapots and small cups filled with the golden liquid. I settle on four varieties – green, litchis, rose, and summer. A cashmere scarf beckons me from the corner of the room and for a small price the softness of the pink cloth becomes a permanent addition to my wardrobe.
As if it weren’t cold enough outside, the Rongshengzai Restaurant retains an arctic atmosphere within its four walls. Lunch was spent in the embrace of three layers of clothing, gloves, and my new pink cashmere scarf. Even the tea and soup became cool instantly at the table; the lazy Susan overfilling with dishes like sweet and sour pork, rice, beef stir-fry, and vegetables. With my apparent fever I opted for soup, soup, and more soup. Having a cold in China is worse than sweating buckets in Burma, at least now it appears that way. My stuffy nose, relentless blowing with barely enough tissue I stuff into my bag each morning at the hotel, is a nuisance. Even with this cold I have so far managed to ignore its persistence when I am off the bus and enjoying the sites. I figure that is what matters most.
Across the street, the only authorized manufacturing shop of the terracotta warriors allowed us the opportunity to observe the firing process, rows of headless soldiers scattered about the concrete floor of the shop. Heather and I purchased two soldiers, a commander and an officer, a size that will undoubtedly serve as fantastic, original bookends. We amused ourselves by stooping low enough, for the medium sized soldiers, to become their heads, as well as falling into the ranks of the life-sized replicas. And even though they were merely replicas, we knew we would never get as close to the original.
At last, we arrived at the Terracotta Warriors Museum. Our guide led us to a round theater to watch a clip on the construction of Qin’s army and upon our departure from the cinema were greeted with signed copies of the official book, “Awakened.” The farmer to discover the ruins works within the compound to greet visitors and aid in research. Needless to say, it was quite a surprise to be able to have such a special introduction to the discoverer of the Eighth World Wonder.
With leisure time to ourselves, Heather and I walked the circumference of Pit 1, the thousands of restored soldiers standing their ranks. To the rear, the unexcavated portion still has undulating slabs of wood covered in dirt, the promise of more soldiers to emerge in the future. Signs announced no flash photography, many in our group disregarding the guidelines. It is distressing to recognize and appreciate these fantastic marvels still being excavated and restored. But when all the archeological investigation is complete, how will the tourist gaze damage the majority already unearthed? Stricter guidelines should be implemented for the preservation of this site. And while all three pits are housed within marbleized architecture safe from the ravages of storms, I can only imagine the damage millions of flash photography cameras will induce in the years to come. As I point out the sign to another student, she shrugs her shoulders and replies that everyone else is, so what.
Heather writes, “At last we were on our way to the Terra Cotta Warriors Museum for our long awaited glimpse of this remarkable site. It was so peaceful on the grounds, with beautiful landscaping, and the pits situated amongst a dozen rolling hills. Oh I so wanted it to snow. We were given about two hours at the site, enough time for any average tourist to see the three pits, but certainly not enough for us with our love of art history. We were absolutely amazed as we entered the first and largest pit. Thousands of warriors stood in file, though it was even more astounding that less than half of the stone army has been unearthed. And even more remarkable was the fact that these warriors were once brightly painted, but age has whisked it away. That is why so many remain trapped in the earth, at least until we can find a means to preserve the pigmentation. The second and third pits were much smaller, pit two showcasing the chariots and horses, and pit three demonstrating the state of the warriors upon discovery in hundreds of small fragments - an arm here, a leg there, a head over there, and a wheel in the corner. Before departing our tour guide brought us our promised books only available at the museum, with a special gift; the farmer that discovered the warriors in 1974 had signed every single one for the students. How special is that? Such a treasure to someone that loves the history of art, I still cannot believe the generosity.”
The experience reminded me a lot of Windsor Palace and being able to see Queen Mary’s dollhouse. The only method of capturing this intricate and beautifully detailed mansion was to purchase a book. The same can be said of the Terracotta Warriors. Inside Pit 2 and 3 were smaller constructions. Pit 2 with mostly uncovered structures revealed the elaborate nature of the find, while Pit 3 possessed cracked warriors lying horizontal, and horses recovered in a stately row. A sign pointed to the site of the well, the farmer’s means of discovering the terracotta army.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We had hoped to find ourselves sitting at the tearoom after seeing all the sites from every angle imaginable, but time was short and so we were once more on the bus for our return to the hotel. Back at the hotel we freshened up for dinner and wandered around the gift shop before ultimately negotiating the price of two chops. We have seen them everywhere since arriving in China and it would seem remiss of us not to purchase one. The chops are a type of hand carved stamp with your Chinese name intricately sculpted by a master craftsman and so after several hours we could view the finished product. I can even see myself stamping all of my books with my name, and using it in my textbooks to mark mine separate from Megan’s.
Megan writes, “With a brief hiatus in the itinerary, Heather and I were able to relax for an hour, flipping through channels on our television to find CNN. Our only opportunity to gain any access to international news is during these times in the hotels. We listen while reading or getting dressed tuning in when anything from home is broadcast.”
We had dinner in a large theatre watching the spectacular Tang dynasty dinner show, which we learned was world famous – indeed we were even lucky enough to get tickets as they are sold out for years in advance. We sat with Betty and Bob, drinking Great Wall red wine, watching the most beautiful costumes and harmonious music imaginable. This is another part of our journey that seems impossible to describe and thus impossible to share, though we did take some small film clips of the performance. The costumes were so bright and vivid with long flowing sleeves, and shiny sequined headpieces.
Returning to the hotel we found our completed chops and took a quick shower before turning out the lights quite satisfied with all of the incredible things we have done.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Within the hour we departed for the Tang Dynasty show. This world-traveled performance made its way into the United States with successful results. Every concert was booked, tickets selling for no less than two hundred dollars. The four scenes were amazing, the music just gorgeous, the costumes even more so. The dresses worn by the women had lengthy sleeves that they used as streamers and their elaborate movements coupled with the grandeur of the music. Confetti fell during the last scene, a real sense of drama and completion. Never have I wished so much for a CD of local music. It was just amazing, amazing, amazing. Perhaps my several small clips on the digital camera will serve satisfactorily enough.
During the performance we ate dinner at our table with Betty and Bob (my habit while typing has led to misspelling Bob the majority of the time as Bod in which I have to erase and re-fix). The bottle of wine was on the house, and its red contents emptied into our four wine glasses led to a toast. It is difficult to describe how wonderful their presence is on the voyage. I think back to the first day boarding the ship. As we walked down the pier I remember seeing them in front of us heading toward the ship. I recall thinking how I would love to have them as my adopted family. Finally, a couple weeks later, Mezraim and Ormond carry their dinner trays to our table and we are introduced. The rest is history, I guess.
I suppose I shall resort to what I normally say at this point in the day: After a warm shower, the steam opening my nose for much needed relief, I quickly fell asleep.
November 14, 2005
Flight to Beijing
The prospect of another flight ahead of me, I packed my carry-on with my purchases – terracotta replicas, daisy duck, T-shirts, books, and my chop, a small stone pillar heavily ornamented with the base carved by an artisan to spell your Chinese name. Of course, it’s ironic that my chop is longer than Heather’s.
Heather writes, “Once again we awoke to an early morning wakeup call for breakfast, packing, and a trip to the Forest of Stele. Of course, being an art history major I knew exactly what was in store. Can you imagine a forest, a whole army of stele geometrically organized like a battalion of past history? We wandered in and amongst the rows upon rows of stone, many stacked atop stone turtles. Here we are on the other side of the world and what should we find – TESTUDO! Okay, so not really Testudo, but it could be his brother. The early morning light gleamed on the blackened surfaces of the stele surrounding small pagodas and delicate silver trees resplendent in orange and yellow drapery of veined leaves. It was a perfect autumn morning as we wandered through the forest with a canopy of sequined branches and the warm breathe of the sun on our backs. Many of the stele were sheltered under pagodas or encased in glass, much of the ancient scripts still visible; I wish I could have read just one, especially those that looked more like rare hieroglyphs.”
The bus headed towards the Museum of the Forest of the Stele, the small paths surrounded with pavilions and plants. The exposed trees caught in the touch of the morning sun coerced the remaining leaves to saturate with a fiery orange color. Perhaps I have missed fall at home and have escaped the gloom emotions that emerge from missing such a colorful vista of foliage by noticing these small replicas.
Hundreds of stele line the inner and outer structures, the original Confucius scripts on many of the tablets. I marvel at the stone turtles at the base, a student in the group remarking sarcastically, “There are thousand year old tablets here and you’re taking a picture of a turtle?” I retort I am an art history major and its none of his business what I’m taking photos of because I won’t share any of them on the public folder. Besides, I say, Maryland’s mascot is the terrapin and the turtles at the base of these stele are almost identical to the Testudo statues on our campus.
Several experts place large paper scrolls over the surface of the tablets and use black ink on large pads to make print replicas for purchase. Their tap, tap, tapping echoes in the hollow interiors of the structure. One of the buildings has been turned into a gift shop and Heather and I soon find ourselves making a purchase for dad, as it is his birthday in two days; even though he won’t receive the gift for another month. As we begin to pay the man, another student walks by and asks us how much he is charging. Fifteen dollars. The student laughs, having just bought the same item for five dollars from the same man. He tells the vendor who appears annoyed with the student to honor that price. Heather and I thank the student when we leave, having caught the man trying to deceive us and offering an unfair deal.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Soon we were on our way for a calligraphy lesson. We mounted the stairs of the university and walked awkwardly down a dark corridor before entering a classroom with wooden benches low to the ground and a Chinese-speaking instructor. I suppose that somewhere in translation her instructions for applying the pigment to the brush were lost and so what should have been small delicate lines and symbols morphed into large bulbous characters on the thin rice paper. The lesson lasted perhaps fifteen minutes, but I would not trade that time for any amount of shopping. Though my calligraphy is far from great it was so interesting to learn about the different aspects of their language and the meanings hidden within each character. Nevertheless I have to say that Megan’s was much worse, we can still laugh at the experience that we have captured so wonderfully in pictures of eachother with our masterpieces or lack thereof!
Megan writes, “We head to a school for a calligraphy lesson, the dark halls imparting a sense of foreboding. Inside the small classroom on low seats we listen to the instructor. She speaks only Chinese and we wait for our guide to translate. The instruction that a little ink goes a long way must have missed my congested hearing as my letters bled over the rice paper into large, monstrous blobs. In the end, we discovered we had written, ‘Good Friends China America.’”
The morning seemed to fly by and at twelve o’clock we were eating lunch at the Silk Road Restaurant in the airport. It seems as if we are always sitting down around a round table with a lazy susan, but at least I can say that Megan and I are getting much better with chopsticks. In fact we even managed to pick up the small peanuts in the chicken, as well as several grains of the sticky rice. Of course, it did take some time, and we still struggled with some dishes, but we are without a doubt heading in the right direction. If we ever figure this out perhaps we will have to buy a nice set of chopsticks.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Before our flight at the airport we went to Silk Road, a restaurant in the airport. By this time the group seemed to have found their friends and familiar faces soon surrounded the tables with lazy susans. At our table Jo-Ellen Jacobs and Gary Jacobs, Martin, an adult passenger, and Betty and Bob. With rice and an assortment of Chinese cuisine it became easy to enjoy the meal, even with the clumsiness of chopsticks.
The flight departed at two-fifty for a two hour and forty minute flight to Beijing. Heather and I were given our tickets to discover we were about twenty rows apart. Disappointed, I boarded the aircraft and soon fell asleep, hoping to feel better upon our arrival.
Heather writes, “Our flight lasted an uncomfortable two hours and forty minutes, Megan sitting at the front of the plane, and me at the back. I have no idea how that happened, but it was very boring and very long. Upon arrival we were greeted once more by the city glowing like a jewel. Our first stop was Tiananmen Square, but the hour bus ride to the city center during rush hour resulted in the first disappointment of the trip. Arriving after seven o’clock, the sky now a deep black, we found the square closed to the public and were only able to step on the corner to take a few pictures before leaving several minutes later. How disappointing to have come all that way to see only the corner, not to mention that you can forget any of the pictures turning out because of the horrible lighting and exposure.”
Ming, our tour guide, directed us to the bus and an hour’s drive to Tiananmen Square. As this famous square closes around seven, it was disappointing to, first, not witness the beauty of the place in the daytime, and second, only be allowed in for five minutes to stand stationary on the concrete slabs. Regardless, it was wonderful to be at this location, the luminescence of shops and signs surrounding the area making visibility better. Everything in the city is lit with more flair than a Christmas tree, though I cannot wait to decorate the boughs with ornaments, some from my travels, upon my return home. Shh!! I said nothing about ornaments!! Shh!!
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We rode directly to Hepingmen Quanjude Restaurant for Peking duck, and you guessed it, another round table with a lazy susan. Dinner was fantastic, especially the duck. The waitress showed us how to prepare the thin pancake with duck, plum sauce, and spring onions, I being given the demonstration wrap. Yum yum. Yet, none of my future attempts matched the proficiency with which she prepared the first, but it was all so delicious regardless of how precise or muddled it turned out. Though I do have to add that I did not enjoy the skin like most, just the meat please.
Megan writes, “After a long flight, a long bus ride, and a short hiatus in the darkness of Tiananmen Square, we departed for Hepingmen Quanjude Restaurant for Peking duck. Our group soon surrounded the same fanciful tables with lazy Susans, the unchanged place settings from our previous meals. After sticky rice, sweet and sour pork, steak, beef, chicken, fish, vegetables, cherry tomatoes, soup and tea, the Peking duck arrived. Sliced chunks of the meat were placed on a tray and added to the hurly-burly of the turning lazy Susan. The waitress snatched Heather’s chopsticks, a technique we were mastering, and used them to construct the Peking duck appropriately. First the thin pancake laid on the small porcelain plate, followed by the duck, the duck used as a paintbrush for the plum sauce, and small strips of onion, concluded with the delicate folding. It goes without saying that after her demonstration we knew how to eat the traditional meal, but did we ever parallel her artistry? No. Either too much or too little plum sauce, not enough duck, or a ripped pancake and the contents were everywhere. It was certainly a memorable and fun experience.”
We checked into the Jianguo Garden Hotel at around nine o’clock, and how wonderful it was to see this place. It is enormous and the rooms are wonderful. Though the carpet is definitely worn in some places, it is clean, and the amenities are amazing. For once I feel completely at ease with the evening portion of our trips and can sleep comfortably.
Megan writes, “With our luggage and pleasantly filled stomachs we checked into the hotel, the best accommodations on the entire voyage. Everything about the room, the furniture, the bedding, the bathroom, even the drawer between the two queen beds that opened to reveal the panel for all the lights, the television and door light. High tech! In this environment, for the first time on the voyage in a hotel, I felt comfortable to fall asleep in the fresh lodgings. And with your mind at ease, sleep comes much more quickly.”
November 15, 2005
The Great Wall of China
It was an early morning with our tour of the Temple of Heaven. Many of the sites are under reconstruction and preservation for the Olympics, and though we wore four layers under our jackets, we decided to purchase a hat to complement our gloves and scarves because of the intense chill. But not just any hat, an Olympic hat, as we were told that it will be much colder at the wall. The Temple of Heaven was under partial reconstruction, though we did walk on the raised portion of the causeway to enjoy the privilege of following in the footsteps of the emperor. After passing the oriental archway we climbed the three tiers to the top of the circular mound where we could stand on the center of the universe, or at least in Chinese philosophy. It was a great photo spot, and we managed to get so many cute snapshots of the both of us.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We enjoyed an early breakfast with Betty and Bob, as they were the only two from our group awake at six thirty. After our appearance in the hotel dining, the Jacobs arrived as well. For an hour and half we enjoyed conversation, Betty and Bob inviting us to come to their home so they could show us around New Hampshire. Betty laughed, inviting us to their newly purchased home in Florida as well. Well, it seems we have local vacations in the United States planned for some time, Pat excited about meeting us in Annapolis from time to time.
We left around eight o’clock, stragglers from our group boarding the bus, the telltale signs of a late night prominent in their attire and scruffy hairstyles. The Temple of Heaven, our first stop would set the parameters of the grandeur to follow. The expansive gardens surrounding the temple were filled with a maze of trees and locals exercising. Groups of tai chi performers every few blocks, women with flags or fans dancing to music in groups, and people will long calligraphy brushes painting the sidewalks with water as a morning prayer, made this ancient temple more alive. With such a flurry of activity it made it difficult to imagine the temple ever being vacant.
Ming pointed out how the main temple was undergoing renovation, a theme to follow throughout the day. Why so many major sites being restored, the Olympics are coming to Beijing. Even this morning as we entered the temple we are reminded of the event as vendors walk beside you selling baseball and knitted caps with the logo for 2008. It is so exciting to feel a part of this adventure, to pass the Olympic village, and experience the pride of the people as they renovate and restore every surface of hotels and buildings to make Beijing more beautiful than it already has become.
Inside the temple we walk down the center path where the emperor would have paraded down in regal flair. The elevated terrace has a circular platform large enough for one, and we learn this is the middle of the earth in their beliefs. We take turns, Heather, me, Heather and I, Betty and Bob, Gary, Gary and Jo-Ellen, and Martin, standing in this spot looking out at the grounds of the temple, the forest of trees, and the skyline in the distance.
Heather writes, “Finally it was time for the long awaited Great Wall. Though many of the Semester at Sea trips visited the wall, they walked the smoother portions open to tourists, some even with lifts and slides to aid in accessibility. Not for us though, we traveled to the most picturesque spot, which can be translated as not only the hardest to climb, but also the area with no added attractions. Yes, I said climb, and without a doubt we were once again scaling tiny steps to the upper towers. How amazing and exhilarating. The view was beyond description with the hills rolling in smooth waves all around, colorful banners swinging from the parapets. It took almost three hours to climb to the highest tower in sight and back, and still it went on and on and on, though you could never see much beyond the highest peak until you reached the next. It would be incomplete if we did not purchase a t-shirt to mark our accomplishments, a shade of pink with the great wall stretching on and the words, “I Climbed the Great Wall,” in Chinese and in English.”
We depart the temple for our long drive to the Great Wall. At the Ju Rong Guan section, the most difficult portion to climb we are informed, we bundle up in four layers of clothes, socks and shoes, a jacket, a scarf, a hat, and a hood. The wind whips at our faces and penetrates our gloves as we climb. It is a difficult ascent, steep steps like at the temples of Cambodia. There is no top of the Great Wall, no major point you can see stretching for miles and miles. We climb intent on finding such a spot, four, five tower structures, six, knowing we have to turn back in order to return to the bus promptly. An hour climb up, forty minutes down, though the descent is more difficult. With the various steps in random intervals, first steep, then shallow, followed by steep again, it is grueling for the knees and legs to adjust to the various degrees. Beginning to sweat in our layers we are happy to reach the bottom and remove one. Our legs feel like jell-o and we laugh with Gary as the three of us walk, wobble and hobble down the last slope.
We make two purchases before leaving the Great Wall, the greatest gift the photos stored in the 1 GB memory sticks in our packs. It will be fun to compare with any remaining slides at the Great Wall from our grandparents. I wonder if they were at the same section or a different one?
We leave this amazing fortification, a sight I never envisioned correctly for the Dayi Friendship Restaurant. I always saw the Great Wall as just that, a wall. No stairs, no strenuous climbing, no large battlements. The view was incredible from the top, the top of our climb that is, as there are no such concepts as the top of the Great Wall.
Heather writes, “We had lunch at the Dayi Friendship Restaurant and gallery. The most memorable part of the meal happened to be the completion of our chopstick training and our promotion to masters. I cannot believe that I can finally use chopsticks. As soon as we get home we are definitely going to Lee’s Hunan so that I can show off my skills. After lunch we purchased our very first set of beautiful chopsticks, in addition to an inkpot for the inkpad that we bought with our chops. It is going to look so pretty on our bookshelves at home.”
At the restaurant we fall into our usual formations, enjoying the foods of the region, always the same sticky rice and delicious cuisine. We laugh with the absurdity when our guide tells us in China there is only Kung Pao Chicken, not like in the United States with Kung Pao Shrimp, Kung Pao Pork, Kung Pao this and Kung Pao that. This is an American convention it seems, as anything marketable in the states can commodify a culture. The meal is fantastic, as always in China, and the proportions are even more enormous than what they squeeze into those cardboard take-out containers in the United States.
Attached to the restaurant is a large store and Heather and I browse for several items, a decorative container for our chop inkwell and a fancy pair of chopsticks among them. As we have now mastered the technique, rather clumsily but still mastered, we are excited about using these utensils even more in the future.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
After lunch we went for a tour of the Summer Palace. During the ride thirty of the forty students decided that they would rather shop than see another palace and practically demanded first, that we only spend fifteen minutes at the palace and then go to the market instead, or second, that the bus take them to the market and the ten of us that wanted our scheduled hour and forty five minutes at the palace pay for a taxi. Can you say, “I don’t think so?” Needless to say our wonderful trip leaders took care of everything and upon arriving at the palace thirty students ditched the tour to “go to the market, and buy nine strands of pearls.” We heard about these pearls for the entire trip, and several other things such as, “Ming, how far is it. Ming, how long is it going to take? What I am saying, Ming is are we going to have time to see the Palace and shop? How much is that going to cost us Ming? Can’t the bus just take us straight to the market, Ming?” Irritating right?
The Summer Palace was situated on a lake with towering pagodas peeking above the trees on the far shore. Small traditional boats, painted red with beautiful tapestries and lanterns were a perfect accent in the setting sun. The queen’s large marble boat sat perched like a beached whale on the shore. The Long Corridor was completely under reconstruction for the Olympics, though we did get a few glances, and a short walk in a small portion of the corridor. I have to say that I was saddened by the closure, but I felt even worse seeing the beauty and vividness being recaptured with the reconstruction. It seems so much more like a royal palace with its ancient patina, than the vibrant colors of a fresh coat of paint and patched planks on the ceiling. If only they could preserve the palace as is and not through a complete facelift. I suppose that is the art historian in me that wants things to stay the same. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.
Megan writes, “From this delicious meal we departed for the Summer Palace, a drive of about an hour. During the drive students began to discuss plans for the evening, attempting to coerce our tour guide to the back of the bus to convince him to change the itinerary. He inquired about how many people wanted to go to the market and shopping destinations instead of the Summer Palace. About thirty-five students raise their hands, leaving ten people.
We arrive at the Summer Palace for sunset, walking the long terrace, the actual structure covered over for renovation. We peeked over the railings to catch a glimpse of the grandeur, sad that we could not view the Palace in its entirety. The lake reflecting the orange sun and the circle of bare trees; it is tranquil and calm here. We reach the end of the terrace, the completed gate and main complex announcing their glory. They have been refurbished, their vivid colors and sparkling gold mimic the colors of the surrounding landscape – the blue of the lake, the gray of the clouds, the red, yellow, and orange of the leaves, the gold of the sun, the green of the grass.”
The large group of students has long since left, having departed before even entering the palace. In taxis they head to the market, silk alley, and a recommended pearl store. One girl goes to purchase ten strands of pearls at over one hundred dollars each. It seems Hong Kong and Beijing has become shopping destinations rather than cultural attractions. I did not understand the importance as we had plenty of leisure time that evening.”
The evening was free for our enjoyment and Megan and I would probably have eaten at the hotel and gone straight to bed had it not been for Professor Jacobs. Her husband was meeting some friends from the court system in China, and so she was alone and asked the two of us if we wanted to go out for a while and see the pedestrian street and have dinner. Two blocks over we passed through another high-end shopping mall and out onto a wonderfully lit street. I remember thinking, “Now this is China.” The street was closed off to cars and other vehicles and so you could cross at will through the throng of people. We found this amazing shop with so many handicrafts. Professor Jacobs purchased some really pretty silk bags for her friends to use as laptop cases, while we decided upon a traditional teapot. And the damage, about two dollars for both, but we have seen them everywhere with varying prices. This had to be the supply store. We even found a chopstick shop, and found this beautifully crafted set of five in varying wood tones with rests. We would have bought them but for the small difference in Japanese and Chinese sticks. We have only mastered the flat-ended Chinese sticks and not the thin pointy end of the Japanese. Though the shop sold both styles, the set we fell in love with was strictly Japanese. We are certainly going to keep an eye out in Japan for a set that meets our approval.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Heading back to the hotel we discuss possible options for dinner. Betty and Bob have decided to either stay at the hotel or go to the optional acrobatic show. Gary Jacobs has a dinner and tour of the courthouse as he is a judge in Illinois and arranged to meet some of the judges in Beijing. Jo-Ellen wants to find Mongolian hotpot, a dish she had when she visited the region years ago. And so, we go out for a night on the town with Jo-Ellen, just the three of us.
We walk the chilly streets, crossing the pedestrian bridge to the Malls at Oriental Plaza. We walk through the mall, an astonishing display of designer brands and outrageous prices. On the other side, the mall opens into an “Avenue at White Marsh” experience. Shops line the street, no cars. We enter a craft store, finding wonderful prices. Jo-Ellen picks up five silk bags for laptops as Christmas gifts, all one dollar. We find a table with ceramic teapots, a special material used to keep the liquid steaming for hours, all one dollar and beautifully made. It is wonderful to discover this authentic shop where prices are just right. We enter a hat shop, Jo-Ellen trying on some crazy styles.
Heather writes, “Suddenly we found ourselves wandering down an authentic alleyway of handicrafts and vendors. It was so amazing, like something from a movie with bright lanterns and banners in all shades and colors with Chinese characters elegantly painted in black. The shops sold traditional Chinese cuisine, some of the more memorable offering grilled corn on a stick, and seahorse kabobs. My mouth dropped open on that one, as the cute little seahorses were perched delicately on the wooden skewers. During our adventures we discovered a small shop with silk jackets. But the price was exorbitant, forty dollars each and so we once more relied on our bargaining techniques. The trick is that you have to be willing to walk away without, and we were on several occasions. But in the end a nod from Professor Jacobs at the final price of forty-three dollars for both, and we had stunning jackets in a deep wine and a brushed celadon, both with gold silk lining visible around the collar.”
From the shops we diverge into a lit alleyway. Red lanterns and colorful banners are hung across the road. We are the only foreigners and we are greeted with corn on the cob, seahorse kabobs, and other strange cuisine. A puppet show is performed at the end, and after some looking and taking in of the picturesque environment we depart in search of Mongolian hotpot.
At last, and after two restaurants later, the second with a not too pleasing or appetizing menu of lamb testicles, cow brains, and other strange innards, we find the place. In the hotel, and down a hall, we enter a restaurant feeling more like a sauna with nothing but Chinese men and one American businessman. We sat at a table, ordered the hotpot with beef, peapods and cabbage. Chopsticks in hand we dipped the food into the boiling pot, removing minutes later to eat. The delicious and juicy meat and perfectly cooked vegetables were fantastic. I look forward to trying to find some equivalent in the United States. It adds a new dimension when you dip your own food and eat with chopsticks. Later, the businessman joined us; he is from Washington DC and we enjoyed his company.
Heather writes, “It was time for dinner by this point and so we found ourselves searching for the Mongolian hot pot restaurant suggested by our tour guide. One of the bellboys took us to a restaurant behind the hotel, but it was absolutely, positively not right. I don’t even want to utter the menu, but it did include cow brains and testicles, a special medicinal soup with various animal parts and other not so favorable dishes. We left that establishment pretty fast and returned to the hotel feeling at a loss without our hot pot. But there it was, right in the hotel, filled with Chinese men, and now three, just three white women. It was so warm like a sauna and we peeled off the layers. We have to find a place like this in Maryland. We ordered the choice cut beef, bean pods, and Chinese cabbage, with sesame sauce. A tray of various fresh herbs and an enormous copper pot was carried to our table, joined shortly by bean sprouts, cabbage, and very thin slices of raw beef. This is where the chopstick skills were really put to the test. First we dumped in the herbs and then picked up the beef with our sticks to drown them in the boiling broth. It cooked in seconds and it was the most unbelievable meal, even the cooked sprouts and sweet cabbage. It has probably become one of my favorite meals and I think that we are going to have to go for a trip to Williams and Sonoma to purchase one for home.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Afterwards we showered and hit the sack for our early morning checkout. I am not sure how to compare all of the experiences that we have had, but certainly today was a real highlight of the trip, but like I said there are so many.
November 16, 2005
Happy Birthday Joe!
I have thought a lot about today and really wanted to call home to wish dad a happy birthday. Hopefully upon our return to the ship we will find the phone cards once again in supply and can even sing for him, though Megan’s voice is slowly disappearing from the cold.
We were scheduled to depart at eight o’clock but found that one student did not return to the hotel last night, and so it caused a huge fiasco to decide whether to leave his bags and
plane ticket or not. Eventually we did leave without the student in question for our tour of the Forbidden City. Our goal this morning was to purchase two more Olympic hats as we made the discovery that one of ours has the year 2006, turned into 2008, and not 2008.
Arriving at the Forbidden City we were given audio guides as we walked through the palace. It was beautifully preserved and I enjoyed all of the broad vistas of bright red pagodas. The site was expansive, crossing from one platform to the next, one courtyard to another, and one landscaped garden to the next. Everything was so green and so red and so yellow. The tour was enjoyable, but for the first time on this trip I was too cold regardless of all my layers and precautions. Near the end I lost circulation in my hands and was ever so glad for the conclusion and the warm gift shop, and another cup of hot tea.
Megan writes, “It is frigid, more bitter than I can ever imagine and as we tour the Forbidden City, it becomes more difficult to enjoy its beauty. We purchase hot tea, although it is not very good, just to warm our hands. After an hour and a half, even in the enormous complex with its grandeur, we are ready to leave for the airport. Our flight is at twelve fifty-five, but we soon discover it has been delayed three hours. In the airport we wait, eating our boxed lunches. The time passes slowly, and still we wait.”
Back on the bus we were joined by our missing student, only to discover that another was abandoned at the palace. We arrived at the airport, with little time before our flight to check in, collect our tickets, pass through security, and board the plane. We waited in line forever to collect our tickets individually. Once at the counter we requested seats together, though we were given seat 41C and 41D, it took quite some time to convey that the plane was enormous and that we were not aisle seats but in the middle. A student behind us got quite impatient and a Chinese man practically told him off and laughed, saying, “If they requested seats, then they should have those seats. They waited just as long as you to check-in; they are at the counter, you are in line. Be quiet and wait your turn.” Bravo! I could not have said it better myself. At our gate we discovered a three-hour delay to our flight, which means an eight o’clock arrival in Hong Kong and a forty-five minute ride to the pier. It was definitely cutting it close to the nine o’clock boarding time, though a flight after us would arrive around eleven.
Megan writes, “We board the flight at three, wait another hour till four, and finally lift off for our four-hour flight to Hong Kong. Back in Hong Kong we arrive at the pier. It is eight forty and all students are supposed to be on by nine o’clock. We wait, and wait, and wait, till ten twenty. At last, we lug are purchases and carry-ons to our room. The dining hall has been left open for us and we quickly eat dinner. Soon after, we fall asleep in the comfort of our cabin. It has been a long amazing trip, one I am not soon to forget.”
We made a quick stop at the Olympic shop for t-shirts before relaxing in the lounge and eating our boxed dinners. The flight was nearly four hours and Megan and I sat in the very last row. After landing we went through customs and immigrations, making a quick stop to pick up one item at the airport, and finally arrived at the ship around eight forty five, though we waited in line for nearly one and a half hours to have our bags checked. The dining room was still open and so we enjoyed a quick dinner and a phone call home before bed.
November 12, 2005
Hong Kong
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We cruised into Hong Kong this morning with the sun bleaching the towering peaks of the skyscrapers platinum silver. I feel as if this trip is almost at an end, and indeed it was interesting this morning to return once again to a more Westernized atmosphere. Although we were due to arrive at around eight o’clock we did not actually disembark the ship until around twelve thirty. I was surprised to learn at first that we are not actually docked on Hong Kong Island, but on Kowloon, and will have to take the Star Ferry across the harbor to the city, which means inevitably that Megan and I will only see the city of Hong Kong from a distance.
After the ship was officially cleared Megan and I sprinted off into the port terminal in hopes of finding souvenirs from Hong Kong, though we were even more shocked to find high-end designer shops, and instead purchased a bag of Berry Blue and Pink Grapefruit Jelly Beans for our flight to Xi’an. Soon we were running out of time and in a desperate search for memory sticks. At long last, nearly out of time, we discovered an electronics and camera store and bought a 1 GB each for our digital cameras. At least we did not have to pack a laptop, and once again we are pleased with our packing and the enormous amount of room left in the bags for our shopping in Mainland China.
At three o’clock we grabbed our bags and headed to the Union to fill out ever more forms and catch the bus to the airport. Our group is quite small considering the size of most trips during this voyage, and Betty and Bob, Martin, Professor Jacobs, and her husband will also join us. The airport was enormous and filled with so many shops. Disneyland Hong Kong just opened in September and so we were extremely excited about the small shop selling apparel and souvenirs. We also bought a couple of treats at a candy store, though for gift purposes my lips are sealed.
Megan writes, “Coursing up, yet another, river into the hum of a sizeable creature; this living city unparalleled with those of Myanmar, India, and Vietnam. The reflections of modern skyscrapers in the waterway echo in reverse the various angles of the buildings, fashioning a continuous loop of mirrored facets from the architecture. Shopping is everywhere, to the left shop windows, to the right vendors, in front a mall. After anxious anticipation and the passage of the morning hours, noon approaches and Heather and I disembark. In the ocean terminal, a shopping precinct among many, we find the electronic stores. Our mission, two one giga-byte Sony memory sticks for our cameras. In under an hour we successfully clutch our purchase of the two sticks and a bag of pink grapefruit and berry blue jelly-belly beans.
Back aboard the MV Explorer we organize the last minute purchases into our carry-on bags and small daypacks. The bags seem light, a good sign as the forecast entails lots of shopping. After three o’clock we exit the innards of the comfortable, mystical animal that has become our home for the airport.”
Before boarding Megan and I ordered a bowl of noodles, mostly because we were not sure what dinner would bring, but also because Megan has been feeling under the weather. We boarded our flight at six o’clock for a two hour and twenty minute journey to Xi’an. The weather in Hong Kong was much warmer than I had expected, perhaps in the eighties, but upon our arrival in Xi’an we were quite cold and wrapped ourselves in several layers with a windbreaker, and Isotoner gloves.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
If the streets of Hong Kong were hectic, it is likely that half the population has filled the airport terminal in search of baggage, departure gates, and, of course, shopping. We find a store for Disneyland Hong Kong, the theme park having just opened in September. Everything says Grand Opening and it is unusual to look at the merchandise and conclude on the popularity of certain movies over others, of certain characters, and certain items. Mostly toys adorn the walls, and children’s clothes. Several T-shirts for adults are on a low white table. The wall opposite the register has Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy and Pluto. Either Goofy is so popular the supply of stuffed Goofy’s has been depleted or he is not a part of the repertoire. Daisy, this surprises me, and along with several other purchases, the sweet little face of Daisy Duck accompanies me to the register. Their features are expressive, larger heads than bodies, black almond eyes with thick upright lashes. Minnie and Daisy have bows that lean to the side, their little hands jutting from plump little frames.
The flight takes two hours and twenty minutes, a span of time that feels like eternity. The arrival in Xian is marked with as much paperwork as our departure, stamping of passports and a health examination. As I have been nursing a cold, I dreaded the temperature check. I turned in the health card, having left every option unmarked. My feet line up with the yellow model on the floor and seconds later I can pass.
We transfer to the hotel, a decent accommodation, and after a shower quickly fall asleep.
Heather writes, “Landing in Xi’an the city was lit like a Christmas tree, even the highway was outlined in dotted blue lights as we drove to the Jianguo Xi’an Hotel. It is comparable to every hotel we have stayed in during the course of the semester, with the exception of the rooms being perhaps a little bit more comfortable and a tad bit more plush.”
November 13, 2005
Xi’an
A bitter morning greeted us when we departed the hotel for our tour. Heather and I clothed in three layers with gloves. Another student mocked our attire, both of us so annoyed with the student from previous trips we made our feelings known. Always willing to ignore or laugh off his comments, it is refreshing to point out when he says he is not laughing at us, but rather with us, that it is just the reverse. He will be sporting gloves before too long!
We arrive at the Big Wild Goose Pagoda, an amazing complex with smaller buildings surrounding the seven-tiered pavilion. Many of the surfaces are covered in a weaving of vines, some with colorful auburn and reddish leaves. Drainage ports extend from the building in the shape of dragons, peaking through the blanket of foliage. The trees are so beautiful, exposed from their summer garments, limbs naked and bare, fragile leaves dangling from several twigs in golden hues. Two marble elephants are at the rear of the complex, and as this is the thirteenth we take a moment to remember Nana. A table has four concrete stools in the shape of elephants as well. Every country since Africa has ornamented shrines and temples with elephants and it has become a welcome reminder of how much I miss her, oftentimes still feeling I am at College Park and will return home for a weekend to visit.
Heather writes, “We woke up early this morning for breakfast at the hotel before departing around eight thirty for our tour of the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. It felt so cold outside that it made me wish that much more for snow and a hot cup of cider. Though the morning news did announce that it is snowing in Kobe, I was surprised that small white flakes were not drifting from the heavens in Beijing or Xi’an. We had about one hour at the pagoda and the tranquility of the gardens with the Asian architecture, the orange leaves of fall and the whiteness of the sky have made it that much harder to be away from home. But what a change from the sweltering heat of the previous ports. I love it! Throughout the complex you could hear traditional Chinese music and even in the gift shop they had an enormous array of compact discs. The shopkeeper was even generous enough to play some for us before we purchased, and made some fantastic suggestions that I cannot wait to enjoy back on the ship and upon our return to the States. I just know that every time I hear the traditional Chinese music I will think of this place and the peace that it imparts to the world. The central pagoda rose in seven tiers with green trees surrounding its base and stone elephants frozen in time matching the majesty of the open landscape.”
With the nippy curls of air spiraling through the garden paths encompassing the structure, it is a refreshing relief when we approach an outside vendor for some hot tea. He opens the various jars, trying to translate the Chinese block letters into something more familiar. “Oooo-llong,” he says, in a clipped English accent. We settle on the aromatic smell of these leaves as he scoops three small spoonfuls into plastic cups. Adding hot water we thank him and wrap our frozen hands around the vessels for warmth. The leaves of the oolong begin to open, unfurling themselves into a large heap. The steam rising from the cup brings a rosy-ness to our cheeks and a slight pinkish color to our noses. I wonder if Jack Frost is behind this weather? After coming from Vietnam and Cambodia where the temperatures were easily in the nineties and hundreds, even Hong Kong around eighty, the gray sky and frigid air reminds me of home.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Before departing we decided to purchase something hot to wrap our gloved fingers around and found ourselves at a small shop pointing to cups and jars of tealeaves. Though the man spoke no English he filled two cups with steaming hot water and two spoonfuls of small green pinwheels that we have come to know as oolong. I half expected him to scoop out the leaves, but they just floated in circles around and around and around the cup. I have never in my life had such a wonderful cup of tea. It tasted superb – I don’t know if it was the fresh leaves, the continued steeping, the joy of watching the small spirals unfold, or just that it was so cold outside, but I could definitely tell that others envied our ingenuity and wished they too had a cup of warm tea to partake fully in the experience. It was such an amazing morning wandering around the pagodas and sipping tea. I know that my whole being was warmed as I drained the glass.
Our next stop brought us to the Shaanxi Provincial Museum where we saw many of the cultural relics of the Dynastic periods, including the tri-colored figures, and our very first glance of things to come – a terracotta warrior and chariot. In the gift shop we met a woman from Maryland on a tour of China, and it just goes to show that it really is a small world after all. Even her daughters went to Maryland, and it was so much fun to talk about Semester at Sea. Of course we had to purchase tea, and the museum had the freshest selection we have seen and some pretty awesome choices, green definitely making the list of four that we could not live without. Our last purchase was really more for comfort and added warmth in the chill of the city, and so we were so happy to wrap a cashmere scarf around our necks to face the ever-colder temperatures outside. How soft and cozy they made us feel, and all day they certainly served their purpose.
We had lunch at Rongshengzai Restaurant and sat around a round table with a lazy susan. They brought so many dishes to the table, though the sweet and sour pork over rice was my absolute favorite. Megan and I have been trying to master the art of chopsticks and perhaps by the time we reach Japan we may be able to pick up a large piece of meat, maybe being the key word. The restaurant was very cold and so we were glad to be back in the courtyard and walking into a workshop that produces the terracotta replicas. It was so much fun to see the kilns piled with figures and to take pictures in line with the life-sized replicas as if they were real; it was a blast to stand in line surrounded by the warriors and the pictures are quite funny. I had only ever imagined that I would buy one of the smaller replicas, perhaps for my shadow box, but upon seeing all of the sizes and variations we each chose two of the larger ones to use as bookends. I can see them in my very own type of a curiosity cabinet one day along with my Akua-ba and other worldly possessions.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We leave the serene of the compound, the music from strategically placed speakers, traditional Chinese melodies, fades as we reenter the bus. We depart for the Shaanxi Provincial Museum. It is difficult to understand the artifacts inside the glass vitrine. Everything is written in Chinese. Is this gold disk before me currency, a button for emperors clothing, or an oddly shaped key for a secret chest? Ceramic figures line another wall behind the glass, most tri-colored in green, blue, and gold. I wonder if I am digesting any of the artifacts and their significance, as they do not warm to my gaze. Their response to me is as distant and cold as the weather outside, we seem not to understand one another and I would much prefer the instruction from a guide if the time were available.
In the souvenir shop a women opens jars of fresh tealeaves for me to smell, their aroma so wonderful that when I close my eyes I am welcomed with images of boiling teapots and small cups filled with the golden liquid. I settle on four varieties – green, litchis, rose, and summer. A cashmere scarf beckons me from the corner of the room and for a small price the softness of the pink cloth becomes a permanent addition to my wardrobe.
As if it weren’t cold enough outside, the Rongshengzai Restaurant retains an arctic atmosphere within its four walls. Lunch was spent in the embrace of three layers of clothing, gloves, and my new pink cashmere scarf. Even the tea and soup became cool instantly at the table; the lazy Susan overfilling with dishes like sweet and sour pork, rice, beef stir-fry, and vegetables. With my apparent fever I opted for soup, soup, and more soup. Having a cold in China is worse than sweating buckets in Burma, at least now it appears that way. My stuffy nose, relentless blowing with barely enough tissue I stuff into my bag each morning at the hotel, is a nuisance. Even with this cold I have so far managed to ignore its persistence when I am off the bus and enjoying the sites. I figure that is what matters most.
Across the street, the only authorized manufacturing shop of the terracotta warriors allowed us the opportunity to observe the firing process, rows of headless soldiers scattered about the concrete floor of the shop. Heather and I purchased two soldiers, a commander and an officer, a size that will undoubtedly serve as fantastic, original bookends. We amused ourselves by stooping low enough, for the medium sized soldiers, to become their heads, as well as falling into the ranks of the life-sized replicas. And even though they were merely replicas, we knew we would never get as close to the original.
At last, we arrived at the Terracotta Warriors Museum. Our guide led us to a round theater to watch a clip on the construction of Qin’s army and upon our departure from the cinema were greeted with signed copies of the official book, “Awakened.” The farmer to discover the ruins works within the compound to greet visitors and aid in research. Needless to say, it was quite a surprise to be able to have such a special introduction to the discoverer of the Eighth World Wonder.
With leisure time to ourselves, Heather and I walked the circumference of Pit 1, the thousands of restored soldiers standing their ranks. To the rear, the unexcavated portion still has undulating slabs of wood covered in dirt, the promise of more soldiers to emerge in the future. Signs announced no flash photography, many in our group disregarding the guidelines. It is distressing to recognize and appreciate these fantastic marvels still being excavated and restored. But when all the archeological investigation is complete, how will the tourist gaze damage the majority already unearthed? Stricter guidelines should be implemented for the preservation of this site. And while all three pits are housed within marbleized architecture safe from the ravages of storms, I can only imagine the damage millions of flash photography cameras will induce in the years to come. As I point out the sign to another student, she shrugs her shoulders and replies that everyone else is, so what.
Heather writes, “At last we were on our way to the Terra Cotta Warriors Museum for our long awaited glimpse of this remarkable site. It was so peaceful on the grounds, with beautiful landscaping, and the pits situated amongst a dozen rolling hills. Oh I so wanted it to snow. We were given about two hours at the site, enough time for any average tourist to see the three pits, but certainly not enough for us with our love of art history. We were absolutely amazed as we entered the first and largest pit. Thousands of warriors stood in file, though it was even more astounding that less than half of the stone army has been unearthed. And even more remarkable was the fact that these warriors were once brightly painted, but age has whisked it away. That is why so many remain trapped in the earth, at least until we can find a means to preserve the pigmentation. The second and third pits were much smaller, pit two showcasing the chariots and horses, and pit three demonstrating the state of the warriors upon discovery in hundreds of small fragments - an arm here, a leg there, a head over there, and a wheel in the corner. Before departing our tour guide brought us our promised books only available at the museum, with a special gift; the farmer that discovered the warriors in 1974 had signed every single one for the students. How special is that? Such a treasure to someone that loves the history of art, I still cannot believe the generosity.”
The experience reminded me a lot of Windsor Palace and being able to see Queen Mary’s dollhouse. The only method of capturing this intricate and beautifully detailed mansion was to purchase a book. The same can be said of the Terracotta Warriors. Inside Pit 2 and 3 were smaller constructions. Pit 2 with mostly uncovered structures revealed the elaborate nature of the find, while Pit 3 possessed cracked warriors lying horizontal, and horses recovered in a stately row. A sign pointed to the site of the well, the farmer’s means of discovering the terracotta army.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We had hoped to find ourselves sitting at the tearoom after seeing all the sites from every angle imaginable, but time was short and so we were once more on the bus for our return to the hotel. Back at the hotel we freshened up for dinner and wandered around the gift shop before ultimately negotiating the price of two chops. We have seen them everywhere since arriving in China and it would seem remiss of us not to purchase one. The chops are a type of hand carved stamp with your Chinese name intricately sculpted by a master craftsman and so after several hours we could view the finished product. I can even see myself stamping all of my books with my name, and using it in my textbooks to mark mine separate from Megan’s.
Megan writes, “With a brief hiatus in the itinerary, Heather and I were able to relax for an hour, flipping through channels on our television to find CNN. Our only opportunity to gain any access to international news is during these times in the hotels. We listen while reading or getting dressed tuning in when anything from home is broadcast.”
We had dinner in a large theatre watching the spectacular Tang dynasty dinner show, which we learned was world famous – indeed we were even lucky enough to get tickets as they are sold out for years in advance. We sat with Betty and Bob, drinking Great Wall red wine, watching the most beautiful costumes and harmonious music imaginable. This is another part of our journey that seems impossible to describe and thus impossible to share, though we did take some small film clips of the performance. The costumes were so bright and vivid with long flowing sleeves, and shiny sequined headpieces.
Returning to the hotel we found our completed chops and took a quick shower before turning out the lights quite satisfied with all of the incredible things we have done.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Within the hour we departed for the Tang Dynasty show. This world-traveled performance made its way into the United States with successful results. Every concert was booked, tickets selling for no less than two hundred dollars. The four scenes were amazing, the music just gorgeous, the costumes even more so. The dresses worn by the women had lengthy sleeves that they used as streamers and their elaborate movements coupled with the grandeur of the music. Confetti fell during the last scene, a real sense of drama and completion. Never have I wished so much for a CD of local music. It was just amazing, amazing, amazing. Perhaps my several small clips on the digital camera will serve satisfactorily enough.
During the performance we ate dinner at our table with Betty and Bob (my habit while typing has led to misspelling Bob the majority of the time as Bod in which I have to erase and re-fix). The bottle of wine was on the house, and its red contents emptied into our four wine glasses led to a toast. It is difficult to describe how wonderful their presence is on the voyage. I think back to the first day boarding the ship. As we walked down the pier I remember seeing them in front of us heading toward the ship. I recall thinking how I would love to have them as my adopted family. Finally, a couple weeks later, Mezraim and Ormond carry their dinner trays to our table and we are introduced. The rest is history, I guess.
I suppose I shall resort to what I normally say at this point in the day: After a warm shower, the steam opening my nose for much needed relief, I quickly fell asleep.
November 14, 2005
Flight to Beijing
The prospect of another flight ahead of me, I packed my carry-on with my purchases – terracotta replicas, daisy duck, T-shirts, books, and my chop, a small stone pillar heavily ornamented with the base carved by an artisan to spell your Chinese name. Of course, it’s ironic that my chop is longer than Heather’s.
Heather writes, “Once again we awoke to an early morning wakeup call for breakfast, packing, and a trip to the Forest of Stele. Of course, being an art history major I knew exactly what was in store. Can you imagine a forest, a whole army of stele geometrically organized like a battalion of past history? We wandered in and amongst the rows upon rows of stone, many stacked atop stone turtles. Here we are on the other side of the world and what should we find – TESTUDO! Okay, so not really Testudo, but it could be his brother. The early morning light gleamed on the blackened surfaces of the stele surrounding small pagodas and delicate silver trees resplendent in orange and yellow drapery of veined leaves. It was a perfect autumn morning as we wandered through the forest with a canopy of sequined branches and the warm breathe of the sun on our backs. Many of the stele were sheltered under pagodas or encased in glass, much of the ancient scripts still visible; I wish I could have read just one, especially those that looked more like rare hieroglyphs.”
The bus headed towards the Museum of the Forest of the Stele, the small paths surrounded with pavilions and plants. The exposed trees caught in the touch of the morning sun coerced the remaining leaves to saturate with a fiery orange color. Perhaps I have missed fall at home and have escaped the gloom emotions that emerge from missing such a colorful vista of foliage by noticing these small replicas.
Hundreds of stele line the inner and outer structures, the original Confucius scripts on many of the tablets. I marvel at the stone turtles at the base, a student in the group remarking sarcastically, “There are thousand year old tablets here and you’re taking a picture of a turtle?” I retort I am an art history major and its none of his business what I’m taking photos of because I won’t share any of them on the public folder. Besides, I say, Maryland’s mascot is the terrapin and the turtles at the base of these stele are almost identical to the Testudo statues on our campus.
Several experts place large paper scrolls over the surface of the tablets and use black ink on large pads to make print replicas for purchase. Their tap, tap, tapping echoes in the hollow interiors of the structure. One of the buildings has been turned into a gift shop and Heather and I soon find ourselves making a purchase for dad, as it is his birthday in two days; even though he won’t receive the gift for another month. As we begin to pay the man, another student walks by and asks us how much he is charging. Fifteen dollars. The student laughs, having just bought the same item for five dollars from the same man. He tells the vendor who appears annoyed with the student to honor that price. Heather and I thank the student when we leave, having caught the man trying to deceive us and offering an unfair deal.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Soon we were on our way for a calligraphy lesson. We mounted the stairs of the university and walked awkwardly down a dark corridor before entering a classroom with wooden benches low to the ground and a Chinese-speaking instructor. I suppose that somewhere in translation her instructions for applying the pigment to the brush were lost and so what should have been small delicate lines and symbols morphed into large bulbous characters on the thin rice paper. The lesson lasted perhaps fifteen minutes, but I would not trade that time for any amount of shopping. Though my calligraphy is far from great it was so interesting to learn about the different aspects of their language and the meanings hidden within each character. Nevertheless I have to say that Megan’s was much worse, we can still laugh at the experience that we have captured so wonderfully in pictures of eachother with our masterpieces or lack thereof!
Megan writes, “We head to a school for a calligraphy lesson, the dark halls imparting a sense of foreboding. Inside the small classroom on low seats we listen to the instructor. She speaks only Chinese and we wait for our guide to translate. The instruction that a little ink goes a long way must have missed my congested hearing as my letters bled over the rice paper into large, monstrous blobs. In the end, we discovered we had written, ‘Good Friends China America.’”
The morning seemed to fly by and at twelve o’clock we were eating lunch at the Silk Road Restaurant in the airport. It seems as if we are always sitting down around a round table with a lazy susan, but at least I can say that Megan and I are getting much better with chopsticks. In fact we even managed to pick up the small peanuts in the chicken, as well as several grains of the sticky rice. Of course, it did take some time, and we still struggled with some dishes, but we are without a doubt heading in the right direction. If we ever figure this out perhaps we will have to buy a nice set of chopsticks.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Before our flight at the airport we went to Silk Road, a restaurant in the airport. By this time the group seemed to have found their friends and familiar faces soon surrounded the tables with lazy susans. At our table Jo-Ellen Jacobs and Gary Jacobs, Martin, an adult passenger, and Betty and Bob. With rice and an assortment of Chinese cuisine it became easy to enjoy the meal, even with the clumsiness of chopsticks.
The flight departed at two-fifty for a two hour and forty minute flight to Beijing. Heather and I were given our tickets to discover we were about twenty rows apart. Disappointed, I boarded the aircraft and soon fell asleep, hoping to feel better upon our arrival.
Heather writes, “Our flight lasted an uncomfortable two hours and forty minutes, Megan sitting at the front of the plane, and me at the back. I have no idea how that happened, but it was very boring and very long. Upon arrival we were greeted once more by the city glowing like a jewel. Our first stop was Tiananmen Square, but the hour bus ride to the city center during rush hour resulted in the first disappointment of the trip. Arriving after seven o’clock, the sky now a deep black, we found the square closed to the public and were only able to step on the corner to take a few pictures before leaving several minutes later. How disappointing to have come all that way to see only the corner, not to mention that you can forget any of the pictures turning out because of the horrible lighting and exposure.”
Ming, our tour guide, directed us to the bus and an hour’s drive to Tiananmen Square. As this famous square closes around seven, it was disappointing to, first, not witness the beauty of the place in the daytime, and second, only be allowed in for five minutes to stand stationary on the concrete slabs. Regardless, it was wonderful to be at this location, the luminescence of shops and signs surrounding the area making visibility better. Everything in the city is lit with more flair than a Christmas tree, though I cannot wait to decorate the boughs with ornaments, some from my travels, upon my return home. Shh!! I said nothing about ornaments!! Shh!!
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We rode directly to Hepingmen Quanjude Restaurant for Peking duck, and you guessed it, another round table with a lazy susan. Dinner was fantastic, especially the duck. The waitress showed us how to prepare the thin pancake with duck, plum sauce, and spring onions, I being given the demonstration wrap. Yum yum. Yet, none of my future attempts matched the proficiency with which she prepared the first, but it was all so delicious regardless of how precise or muddled it turned out. Though I do have to add that I did not enjoy the skin like most, just the meat please.
Megan writes, “After a long flight, a long bus ride, and a short hiatus in the darkness of Tiananmen Square, we departed for Hepingmen Quanjude Restaurant for Peking duck. Our group soon surrounded the same fanciful tables with lazy Susans, the unchanged place settings from our previous meals. After sticky rice, sweet and sour pork, steak, beef, chicken, fish, vegetables, cherry tomatoes, soup and tea, the Peking duck arrived. Sliced chunks of the meat were placed on a tray and added to the hurly-burly of the turning lazy Susan. The waitress snatched Heather’s chopsticks, a technique we were mastering, and used them to construct the Peking duck appropriately. First the thin pancake laid on the small porcelain plate, followed by the duck, the duck used as a paintbrush for the plum sauce, and small strips of onion, concluded with the delicate folding. It goes without saying that after her demonstration we knew how to eat the traditional meal, but did we ever parallel her artistry? No. Either too much or too little plum sauce, not enough duck, or a ripped pancake and the contents were everywhere. It was certainly a memorable and fun experience.”
We checked into the Jianguo Garden Hotel at around nine o’clock, and how wonderful it was to see this place. It is enormous and the rooms are wonderful. Though the carpet is definitely worn in some places, it is clean, and the amenities are amazing. For once I feel completely at ease with the evening portion of our trips and can sleep comfortably.
Megan writes, “With our luggage and pleasantly filled stomachs we checked into the hotel, the best accommodations on the entire voyage. Everything about the room, the furniture, the bedding, the bathroom, even the drawer between the two queen beds that opened to reveal the panel for all the lights, the television and door light. High tech! In this environment, for the first time on the voyage in a hotel, I felt comfortable to fall asleep in the fresh lodgings. And with your mind at ease, sleep comes much more quickly.”
November 15, 2005
The Great Wall of China
It was an early morning with our tour of the Temple of Heaven. Many of the sites are under reconstruction and preservation for the Olympics, and though we wore four layers under our jackets, we decided to purchase a hat to complement our gloves and scarves because of the intense chill. But not just any hat, an Olympic hat, as we were told that it will be much colder at the wall. The Temple of Heaven was under partial reconstruction, though we did walk on the raised portion of the causeway to enjoy the privilege of following in the footsteps of the emperor. After passing the oriental archway we climbed the three tiers to the top of the circular mound where we could stand on the center of the universe, or at least in Chinese philosophy. It was a great photo spot, and we managed to get so many cute snapshots of the both of us.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We enjoyed an early breakfast with Betty and Bob, as they were the only two from our group awake at six thirty. After our appearance in the hotel dining, the Jacobs arrived as well. For an hour and half we enjoyed conversation, Betty and Bob inviting us to come to their home so they could show us around New Hampshire. Betty laughed, inviting us to their newly purchased home in Florida as well. Well, it seems we have local vacations in the United States planned for some time, Pat excited about meeting us in Annapolis from time to time.
We left around eight o’clock, stragglers from our group boarding the bus, the telltale signs of a late night prominent in their attire and scruffy hairstyles. The Temple of Heaven, our first stop would set the parameters of the grandeur to follow. The expansive gardens surrounding the temple were filled with a maze of trees and locals exercising. Groups of tai chi performers every few blocks, women with flags or fans dancing to music in groups, and people will long calligraphy brushes painting the sidewalks with water as a morning prayer, made this ancient temple more alive. With such a flurry of activity it made it difficult to imagine the temple ever being vacant.
Ming pointed out how the main temple was undergoing renovation, a theme to follow throughout the day. Why so many major sites being restored, the Olympics are coming to Beijing. Even this morning as we entered the temple we are reminded of the event as vendors walk beside you selling baseball and knitted caps with the logo for 2008. It is so exciting to feel a part of this adventure, to pass the Olympic village, and experience the pride of the people as they renovate and restore every surface of hotels and buildings to make Beijing more beautiful than it already has become.
Inside the temple we walk down the center path where the emperor would have paraded down in regal flair. The elevated terrace has a circular platform large enough for one, and we learn this is the middle of the earth in their beliefs. We take turns, Heather, me, Heather and I, Betty and Bob, Gary, Gary and Jo-Ellen, and Martin, standing in this spot looking out at the grounds of the temple, the forest of trees, and the skyline in the distance.
Heather writes, “Finally it was time for the long awaited Great Wall. Though many of the Semester at Sea trips visited the wall, they walked the smoother portions open to tourists, some even with lifts and slides to aid in accessibility. Not for us though, we traveled to the most picturesque spot, which can be translated as not only the hardest to climb, but also the area with no added attractions. Yes, I said climb, and without a doubt we were once again scaling tiny steps to the upper towers. How amazing and exhilarating. The view was beyond description with the hills rolling in smooth waves all around, colorful banners swinging from the parapets. It took almost three hours to climb to the highest tower in sight and back, and still it went on and on and on, though you could never see much beyond the highest peak until you reached the next. It would be incomplete if we did not purchase a t-shirt to mark our accomplishments, a shade of pink with the great wall stretching on and the words, “I Climbed the Great Wall,” in Chinese and in English.”
We depart the temple for our long drive to the Great Wall. At the Ju Rong Guan section, the most difficult portion to climb we are informed, we bundle up in four layers of clothes, socks and shoes, a jacket, a scarf, a hat, and a hood. The wind whips at our faces and penetrates our gloves as we climb. It is a difficult ascent, steep steps like at the temples of Cambodia. There is no top of the Great Wall, no major point you can see stretching for miles and miles. We climb intent on finding such a spot, four, five tower structures, six, knowing we have to turn back in order to return to the bus promptly. An hour climb up, forty minutes down, though the descent is more difficult. With the various steps in random intervals, first steep, then shallow, followed by steep again, it is grueling for the knees and legs to adjust to the various degrees. Beginning to sweat in our layers we are happy to reach the bottom and remove one. Our legs feel like jell-o and we laugh with Gary as the three of us walk, wobble and hobble down the last slope.
We make two purchases before leaving the Great Wall, the greatest gift the photos stored in the 1 GB memory sticks in our packs. It will be fun to compare with any remaining slides at the Great Wall from our grandparents. I wonder if they were at the same section or a different one?
We leave this amazing fortification, a sight I never envisioned correctly for the Dayi Friendship Restaurant. I always saw the Great Wall as just that, a wall. No stairs, no strenuous climbing, no large battlements. The view was incredible from the top, the top of our climb that is, as there are no such concepts as the top of the Great Wall.
Heather writes, “We had lunch at the Dayi Friendship Restaurant and gallery. The most memorable part of the meal happened to be the completion of our chopstick training and our promotion to masters. I cannot believe that I can finally use chopsticks. As soon as we get home we are definitely going to Lee’s Hunan so that I can show off my skills. After lunch we purchased our very first set of beautiful chopsticks, in addition to an inkpot for the inkpad that we bought with our chops. It is going to look so pretty on our bookshelves at home.”
At the restaurant we fall into our usual formations, enjoying the foods of the region, always the same sticky rice and delicious cuisine. We laugh with the absurdity when our guide tells us in China there is only Kung Pao Chicken, not like in the United States with Kung Pao Shrimp, Kung Pao Pork, Kung Pao this and Kung Pao that. This is an American convention it seems, as anything marketable in the states can commodify a culture. The meal is fantastic, as always in China, and the proportions are even more enormous than what they squeeze into those cardboard take-out containers in the United States.
Attached to the restaurant is a large store and Heather and I browse for several items, a decorative container for our chop inkwell and a fancy pair of chopsticks among them. As we have now mastered the technique, rather clumsily but still mastered, we are excited about using these utensils even more in the future.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
After lunch we went for a tour of the Summer Palace. During the ride thirty of the forty students decided that they would rather shop than see another palace and practically demanded first, that we only spend fifteen minutes at the palace and then go to the market instead, or second, that the bus take them to the market and the ten of us that wanted our scheduled hour and forty five minutes at the palace pay for a taxi. Can you say, “I don’t think so?” Needless to say our wonderful trip leaders took care of everything and upon arriving at the palace thirty students ditched the tour to “go to the market, and buy nine strands of pearls.” We heard about these pearls for the entire trip, and several other things such as, “Ming, how far is it. Ming, how long is it going to take? What I am saying, Ming is are we going to have time to see the Palace and shop? How much is that going to cost us Ming? Can’t the bus just take us straight to the market, Ming?” Irritating right?
The Summer Palace was situated on a lake with towering pagodas peeking above the trees on the far shore. Small traditional boats, painted red with beautiful tapestries and lanterns were a perfect accent in the setting sun. The queen’s large marble boat sat perched like a beached whale on the shore. The Long Corridor was completely under reconstruction for the Olympics, though we did get a few glances, and a short walk in a small portion of the corridor. I have to say that I was saddened by the closure, but I felt even worse seeing the beauty and vividness being recaptured with the reconstruction. It seems so much more like a royal palace with its ancient patina, than the vibrant colors of a fresh coat of paint and patched planks on the ceiling. If only they could preserve the palace as is and not through a complete facelift. I suppose that is the art historian in me that wants things to stay the same. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.
Megan writes, “From this delicious meal we departed for the Summer Palace, a drive of about an hour. During the drive students began to discuss plans for the evening, attempting to coerce our tour guide to the back of the bus to convince him to change the itinerary. He inquired about how many people wanted to go to the market and shopping destinations instead of the Summer Palace. About thirty-five students raise their hands, leaving ten people.
We arrive at the Summer Palace for sunset, walking the long terrace, the actual structure covered over for renovation. We peeked over the railings to catch a glimpse of the grandeur, sad that we could not view the Palace in its entirety. The lake reflecting the orange sun and the circle of bare trees; it is tranquil and calm here. We reach the end of the terrace, the completed gate and main complex announcing their glory. They have been refurbished, their vivid colors and sparkling gold mimic the colors of the surrounding landscape – the blue of the lake, the gray of the clouds, the red, yellow, and orange of the leaves, the gold of the sun, the green of the grass.”
The large group of students has long since left, having departed before even entering the palace. In taxis they head to the market, silk alley, and a recommended pearl store. One girl goes to purchase ten strands of pearls at over one hundred dollars each. It seems Hong Kong and Beijing has become shopping destinations rather than cultural attractions. I did not understand the importance as we had plenty of leisure time that evening.”
The evening was free for our enjoyment and Megan and I would probably have eaten at the hotel and gone straight to bed had it not been for Professor Jacobs. Her husband was meeting some friends from the court system in China, and so she was alone and asked the two of us if we wanted to go out for a while and see the pedestrian street and have dinner. Two blocks over we passed through another high-end shopping mall and out onto a wonderfully lit street. I remember thinking, “Now this is China.” The street was closed off to cars and other vehicles and so you could cross at will through the throng of people. We found this amazing shop with so many handicrafts. Professor Jacobs purchased some really pretty silk bags for her friends to use as laptop cases, while we decided upon a traditional teapot. And the damage, about two dollars for both, but we have seen them everywhere with varying prices. This had to be the supply store. We even found a chopstick shop, and found this beautifully crafted set of five in varying wood tones with rests. We would have bought them but for the small difference in Japanese and Chinese sticks. We have only mastered the flat-ended Chinese sticks and not the thin pointy end of the Japanese. Though the shop sold both styles, the set we fell in love with was strictly Japanese. We are certainly going to keep an eye out in Japan for a set that meets our approval.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Heading back to the hotel we discuss possible options for dinner. Betty and Bob have decided to either stay at the hotel or go to the optional acrobatic show. Gary Jacobs has a dinner and tour of the courthouse as he is a judge in Illinois and arranged to meet some of the judges in Beijing. Jo-Ellen wants to find Mongolian hotpot, a dish she had when she visited the region years ago. And so, we go out for a night on the town with Jo-Ellen, just the three of us.
We walk the chilly streets, crossing the pedestrian bridge to the Malls at Oriental Plaza. We walk through the mall, an astonishing display of designer brands and outrageous prices. On the other side, the mall opens into an “Avenue at White Marsh” experience. Shops line the street, no cars. We enter a craft store, finding wonderful prices. Jo-Ellen picks up five silk bags for laptops as Christmas gifts, all one dollar. We find a table with ceramic teapots, a special material used to keep the liquid steaming for hours, all one dollar and beautifully made. It is wonderful to discover this authentic shop where prices are just right. We enter a hat shop, Jo-Ellen trying on some crazy styles.
Heather writes, “Suddenly we found ourselves wandering down an authentic alleyway of handicrafts and vendors. It was so amazing, like something from a movie with bright lanterns and banners in all shades and colors with Chinese characters elegantly painted in black. The shops sold traditional Chinese cuisine, some of the more memorable offering grilled corn on a stick, and seahorse kabobs. My mouth dropped open on that one, as the cute little seahorses were perched delicately on the wooden skewers. During our adventures we discovered a small shop with silk jackets. But the price was exorbitant, forty dollars each and so we once more relied on our bargaining techniques. The trick is that you have to be willing to walk away without, and we were on several occasions. But in the end a nod from Professor Jacobs at the final price of forty-three dollars for both, and we had stunning jackets in a deep wine and a brushed celadon, both with gold silk lining visible around the collar.”
From the shops we diverge into a lit alleyway. Red lanterns and colorful banners are hung across the road. We are the only foreigners and we are greeted with corn on the cob, seahorse kabobs, and other strange cuisine. A puppet show is performed at the end, and after some looking and taking in of the picturesque environment we depart in search of Mongolian hotpot.
At last, and after two restaurants later, the second with a not too pleasing or appetizing menu of lamb testicles, cow brains, and other strange innards, we find the place. In the hotel, and down a hall, we enter a restaurant feeling more like a sauna with nothing but Chinese men and one American businessman. We sat at a table, ordered the hotpot with beef, peapods and cabbage. Chopsticks in hand we dipped the food into the boiling pot, removing minutes later to eat. The delicious and juicy meat and perfectly cooked vegetables were fantastic. I look forward to trying to find some equivalent in the United States. It adds a new dimension when you dip your own food and eat with chopsticks. Later, the businessman joined us; he is from Washington DC and we enjoyed his company.
Heather writes, “It was time for dinner by this point and so we found ourselves searching for the Mongolian hot pot restaurant suggested by our tour guide. One of the bellboys took us to a restaurant behind the hotel, but it was absolutely, positively not right. I don’t even want to utter the menu, but it did include cow brains and testicles, a special medicinal soup with various animal parts and other not so favorable dishes. We left that establishment pretty fast and returned to the hotel feeling at a loss without our hot pot. But there it was, right in the hotel, filled with Chinese men, and now three, just three white women. It was so warm like a sauna and we peeled off the layers. We have to find a place like this in Maryland. We ordered the choice cut beef, bean pods, and Chinese cabbage, with sesame sauce. A tray of various fresh herbs and an enormous copper pot was carried to our table, joined shortly by bean sprouts, cabbage, and very thin slices of raw beef. This is where the chopstick skills were really put to the test. First we dumped in the herbs and then picked up the beef with our sticks to drown them in the boiling broth. It cooked in seconds and it was the most unbelievable meal, even the cooked sprouts and sweet cabbage. It has probably become one of my favorite meals and I think that we are going to have to go for a trip to Williams and Sonoma to purchase one for home.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Afterwards we showered and hit the sack for our early morning checkout. I am not sure how to compare all of the experiences that we have had, but certainly today was a real highlight of the trip, but like I said there are so many.
November 16, 2005
Happy Birthday Joe!
I have thought a lot about today and really wanted to call home to wish dad a happy birthday. Hopefully upon our return to the ship we will find the phone cards once again in supply and can even sing for him, though Megan’s voice is slowly disappearing from the cold.
We were scheduled to depart at eight o’clock but found that one student did not return to the hotel last night, and so it caused a huge fiasco to decide whether to leave his bags and
plane ticket or not. Eventually we did leave without the student in question for our tour of the Forbidden City. Our goal this morning was to purchase two more Olympic hats as we made the discovery that one of ours has the year 2006, turned into 2008, and not 2008.
Arriving at the Forbidden City we were given audio guides as we walked through the palace. It was beautifully preserved and I enjoyed all of the broad vistas of bright red pagodas. The site was expansive, crossing from one platform to the next, one courtyard to another, and one landscaped garden to the next. Everything was so green and so red and so yellow. The tour was enjoyable, but for the first time on this trip I was too cold regardless of all my layers and precautions. Near the end I lost circulation in my hands and was ever so glad for the conclusion and the warm gift shop, and another cup of hot tea.
Megan writes, “It is frigid, more bitter than I can ever imagine and as we tour the Forbidden City, it becomes more difficult to enjoy its beauty. We purchase hot tea, although it is not very good, just to warm our hands. After an hour and a half, even in the enormous complex with its grandeur, we are ready to leave for the airport. Our flight is at twelve fifty-five, but we soon discover it has been delayed three hours. In the airport we wait, eating our boxed lunches. The time passes slowly, and still we wait.”
Back on the bus we were joined by our missing student, only to discover that another was abandoned at the palace. We arrived at the airport, with little time before our flight to check in, collect our tickets, pass through security, and board the plane. We waited in line forever to collect our tickets individually. Once at the counter we requested seats together, though we were given seat 41C and 41D, it took quite some time to convey that the plane was enormous and that we were not aisle seats but in the middle. A student behind us got quite impatient and a Chinese man practically told him off and laughed, saying, “If they requested seats, then they should have those seats. They waited just as long as you to check-in; they are at the counter, you are in line. Be quiet and wait your turn.” Bravo! I could not have said it better myself. At our gate we discovered a three-hour delay to our flight, which means an eight o’clock arrival in Hong Kong and a forty-five minute ride to the pier. It was definitely cutting it close to the nine o’clock boarding time, though a flight after us would arrive around eleven.
Megan writes, “We board the flight at three, wait another hour till four, and finally lift off for our four-hour flight to Hong Kong. Back in Hong Kong we arrive at the pier. It is eight forty and all students are supposed to be on by nine o’clock. We wait, and wait, and wait, till ten twenty. At last, we lug are purchases and carry-ons to our room. The dining hall has been left open for us and we quickly eat dinner. Soon after, we fall asleep in the comfort of our cabin. It has been a long amazing trip, one I am not soon to forget.”
We made a quick stop at the Olympic shop for t-shirts before relaxing in the lounge and eating our boxed dinners. The flight was nearly four hours and Megan and I sat in the very last row. After landing we went through customs and immigrations, making a quick stop to pick up one item at the airport, and finally arrived at the ship around eight forty five, though we waited in line for nearly one and a half hours to have our bags checked. The dining room was still open and so we enjoyed a quick dinner and a phone call home before bed.
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