September 15, 2005
Mercado Modelo and Bahia by Night
I know that we have been updating quite regularly while in Brazil so if you have not read about our adventures from the first two days don’t forget to check out the postings, “A Very Special Day” and “Itaparica Island.”
On a side note, we are sending lots of luck and love to Ashley today. We love you and miss you and everything is going to work out. Don’t worry, be happy.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal
We slept in a little this morning, which unfortunately means only about an hour longer or we would miss breakfast because it ends at eight thirty. Of course Megan has suggested that we sleep straight through breakfast and report to the pool bistro for a hot cinnamon bun. I might just take her up on that in the next few days.
After breakfast we sat in the piano lounge and worked on our anthropology papers that are due on the twenty-first in our cultural tourism course. I am very happy with what I have written, though we did not finish them at this time, but a little later on in the evening. During the time we worked on our papers the crew practiced the lifeboat drills and lowered one of the boats. It was very interesting to see them scurrying around in their vests and the fire doors closing in what appeared a seamless performance.
Megan writes, “After the eventful and tiring last two days I spent the morning hours aboard the MV Explorer taking a much-needed respite from the activities of Salvador. With a paper due September 21st I decided to spend my hours wisely. Not only did I complete the paper for Anthropology Tourism, but I printed the document as well. It is better to print the essay now, rather than during the crossing to South Africa, as many more students will be utilizing the facilities and oftentimes paper is either low or out.
I am quite satisfied with my first paper, surprised at my resourcefulness and inventiveness for the essay in which there are few requirements that include five pages double-spaced. I spent the overall meat of the paper discussing the authenticity of Coche’s conch mounds and the effect the tourist gaze has provoked. It is clever and oftentimes relies on graphic and expressive analysis in order to establish a conclusion. I am ready to complete my second paper for the course already even though it is not due for another month. It will address the orishas, authenticity to Yoruba beliefs and the comparison to art forms in Africa.”
Today we had a very unexpected adventure. We thought that we would devote some time to relaxing on the ship and taking in some rays, but we were told that a couple of students were going to the market at eleven. Thus we found ourselves with two other girls and a guy, solely for security purposes, heading to the Mercado Modelo to shop for Brazilian handicrafts and such. It was much like any craft market found throughout the Caribbean, but is housed in a colonial building with two levels and is absolutely enormous. Again, I cannot and will not divulge the outcome of this very exciting and successful trip, though I know you would love to hear what we bought. Although, I will tell you that I bought a painting. It is a depiction of the Pelourinho and the upper and lower city with the ocean creating a beautiful blue backdrop to the colorful colonial architecture and bright green palm trees. There are tiny stick-like people dressed in traditional Bahia costumes spread throughout the painting and it is so animated and energetic that the scene almost jumps off the canvas.
We have found it very easy to exchange money at the port terminal, and have even discovered a small post office there as well and will mail postcards tomorrow. It was so thrilling to be out in Brazil, with a feeling of ease and security, though the market is always intimidating with vendors competing for your attention. We talked a lot with one of the girls that went along with us, her name is Jess and she is from Minnesota. Her roommate is also from Minnesota and they were friends before Semester at Sea. We were so excited to find someone else that was looking for fellow classmates to explore the nearby area around the port with and who are not interested in drinking, bars, partying, or being out after dark. It was so refreshing and we decided to have lunch tomorrow at twelve thirty before returning to the market. Yes, we still have some last minute shopping to do, actually we did not take enough money with us yesterday, as we did not know what to expect and wanted to be safe. So the four of us are going to the market and I think that we have finally found someone to hangout with that has a similar personality.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Three students were going out to the Bahian market around 11:00 and Heather and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to have a group, particularly a guy. The market was busy, vendors pointing and waving you into their stalls trying to interest you in their products, the same merchandise everyone else seems to have. I purchased a small painting that is perhaps the most vivid artwork I have seen. Difficult to describe, the canvas is stretched over a wooden frame much like the paintings I have purchased from places like Haiti. Four swatches of swirling patterns are tiled across the background and a slice of watermelon, banana, mango and strawberry are splashed around the central woman, no face or physical features, with a large skirt twirling - iridescent embellishment that is, I believe, acrylic paint decorating her apparel. She is a Candomble dancer.
Heather also purchased a painting, a scene of Salvador with small colorful houses, the ocean in the background and dancers parading the streets. After running out of money, surprisingly, we returned to the ship with Jess from 2030. She seems very much like us and we decided to meet for lunch at 12:30 tomorrow and head back to the market at 1:00. Her roommate has been on a trip and wants to go to the market with a group when she returns. The four of us will head out and have some fun in the wonderful warmth of the Salvador sun. There are a couple more things we would like to get at the market, postcards in the terminal, and at last, take care of our mail.
Heather writes, “We returned to the ship after our short, yet sudden trip, and finished our five page papers on cultural tourism. It feels so good to have this project done so that I can focus on other things, perhaps the next essay. I wrote my first paper on Pre-Columbian influences in Latin American tourist art, meaning the ceramics from Margarita Island and Itaparica Island with a comparison on what is authentic and what is appropriated from other cultures. I think that my next response will be on the Candomble House and ceremony performed by the priestess.”
Later we got ready for our trip through Semester at Sea, wearing blue jeans, ribbed tanks, and a black shrug. The location of the performance was incredible. Cobbled streets led down to a plantation house. Again, the feeling of rolling down the steep incline was in my thoughts as I tried to maneuver my foot in a choreography of gentle steps and careful footings. At the bottom we entered the manorhouse with its own sugar mill, church and slaves’ quarters. It was also a restaurant and I thought this was the place we would be eating dinner, especially while we watched the performance on a wooden stage in the center of the room. But, no, this was not the case.
The dance of the main orishas followed by the Caboclo dance, maculele stick and sword dance, capoeira martial arts dance, and many more were indeed quite a sight. So many of the routines were danced with such fiery and speed that not even the camera would capture solid shapes. Much of the one hundred some photos from the performance manifest blurred lines of the dancers and glows of the costumes arched across the photo in the silhouette of their movements. Actually, some of the pictures are beautiful with these glows and quite unique.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
This evening we went on the Bahia by night trip and found ourselves in this beautifully overgrown square with colonial architecture in the approaching dusk. I have said it before, but I will have to say it again. Apparently there are several streets in Brazil that you are expected to roll down head over heels instead of walk down, for we were descending the smooth cobbles down into the steep, dark void of darkness, practically plummeting into the square. We went inside an old manor house that has been converted into a museum and out onto a pier overlooking the harbor and the sparkling lights of the city. A swift ocean breeze whisked past the group, bringing with it the sent of salt and cool Brazilian nights. Once inside we descended into the basement where tables and chairs surrounded a raised wooden platform.
A long performance ensued, first the Candomble with the brightly attired orishas, followed by the capoiera and sword dances. At one point the dancers fought with metallic machetes and wooden poles clicking in time to the beating of drums in a flurry of movement and arcing metal. Clangs of the blades rang rhythmically throughout the stone room. In another very startling portion of the performance two women came out in elaborately flowing paneled skirts topless, decorated in white body paint. It was quite interesting to see the marked increase in the amount of pictures being snapped from the male population of our group as the girls lowered their cameras and averted their eyes in shocked horror at the scene unfolding on the stage. Directly across from us on the other side of the stage sat a student from our group dressed in a black polo, and during the entire performance his mouth hung open; it made me want to go over and pick up his jaw. As I look back at some of our photos, he is there, and I will never forget that ridiculous grin hanging on his face throughout the performance.
Megan writes, “After the performance we left the manorhouse for the Villa’s, a restaurant about thirty minutes away. Had I known that at eight thirty we would be making our way to eat an enormous meal, I might not have chosen the trip. On the other hand, the food and company was excellent so I cannot complain. It was just incredibly late and I was tired. The interport lecturers for the next port, a father and son, were at out table, and we spoke a little about South Africa. Overall it was a pleasant evening although not what I had in mind.”
At the conclusion of the show we boarded the bus for a thirty-minute drive to the Villas, a restaurant located in the city. It was very fancy and after loading your plate from a five-star buffet the waiters brought skewers of every type of meat imaginable to the table. It was incredible and the food was very good, though I was quite tired by this point. I was shocked and disgusted when one waiter brought chicken hearts around and I definitely passed that one up. Sorry dad, just not one I could try. But they did serve crocodile and many other types of meat and the buffet was delicious with gourmet olives, mozzarella da buffala, which is the best, garlic bread, and many other delicacies that I did not try like caviar, salmon, sushi, peppers, white asparagus and so on and so forth.
Finally we returned to the ship at eleven after a long bus ride of which I felt quite sick. I have found that although I do not get seasick that a prolonged ride on a bumpy tour bus does not go over well with my stomach. At one point in the ride we were literally bounced a foot out of our seats and it would probably have been better to hang from the ceiling than clutching our seat cushions with white knuckles. It is time for bed and I can’t wait to sleep in tomorrow and relax.
Megan writes, “In bed by eleven thirty I was glad to be on the ship, the tide rocking the boat up and down in the port of Salvador.”
Friday, September 16, 2005
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Itaparica Island
Don't forget to read our posting "A Very Special Day" if you have not read about our first day in Brazil!
September 14, 2005
Itaparica Island and Maragogipinho
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
A beautiful morning in Bahia with a gentle breeze sweeping through the port terminal is a welcome sign of what the day will bring. With curly hair, diffused for the first time, around eight thirty we departed for our field directed practicum under our anthropology professor Willie Smyth. There were only fourteen participants, which is quite a change from the overly large tours and boisterous crowd.
Heather writes, “Today was the first day since the beginning of the voyage that we wore our hair curly and I definitely think we threw some people off. At eight thirty we made our way by bus back up to the old district in the upper city and Pelourinho. Even in the morning hours Brazil evokes a certain charm. The city still holds a subdued whisper of a bygone era with small reminders of the modern day like the internet café squeezed between a colonial church and a lanchonete, which is the Portuguese spelling of a Brazilian fast food joint.”
Back at the same museum, only in the cellar, we were given a grand tour of the Archaeology collection of ceramics from the region. Again, I watched amazed while the expert spoke Portuguese, our tour guide translating, and he touching and holding the pieces that are more than five hundred years old. Photography was permitted and it was Heather’s turn in the limelight, as she found herself face-to-face with Wari ceramics, zoomorphs with frogs. I felt so glad that both of us have seen things in Brazil relating to our studies. Returning to Maryland we will most assuredly feel like indulged seniors in the art history department with all of our experiences.
Heather writes, “Our first stop was in the cellar of a Jesuit monastery that now houses the archaeology museum and a collection of Pre-Columbian ceramics from before the arrival of the Portuguese in Brazil. If yesterday was Megan’s forte, than today was definitely mine. To see so many different pieces from Brazil’s past was certainly a peek into what I enjoy so much about Pre-Columbian cultures. I was pleasantly surprised to find zoomorphic ceramics from the Wari, and was even more excited about a particular piece adorned with clay-fired frogs. The museum held a certain appeal in old-world charm, the vaulted like ceilings made of red stone, and the floors uneven brick.”
The museum was poorly lit, but provided for great photos with the flash, rather than a finicky half-lighting that are never very clear in photos. Equally, the granite, sand and whale oiled ceiling was incredibly unique and provided an unconventional appeal.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
After the museum we made our way to the ferry for a fifty-minute ride to Itaparica. We were supposed to have embarked on the ten thirty ferry, but our bus was too big, thus we found ourselves waiting for the eleven o’clock crossing. At last we were happy to be standing on the upper deck of the ferry taking some incredible pictures of the MV Explorer with the city as a backdrop. I have found it very interesting that Brazil is so cool. There is always a wonderful breeze and though I have found myself hot at times during the noon hours, it has been pleasantly cool at night and quite breezy during the day.
Megan writes, “We left the museum for the ferry to Itaparica Island, waiting about an hour for the larger ferry to arrive, as even the mini tour bus was unable to fit on the ten-thirty departure. We went to the top deck of the ferry, able to see our ship and the Salvador coast touched by the first rays of the young sun as she made her ascent. The captain invited the eight of us that were there at the time to the bridge, which seemed unusual, however fascinating. In the bridge the meandering path of the wind billowed through the deck as we watched our approach over fifty minutes to the island. The captain had family in the United States and it certainly provided more of a panorama of the beautiful island as we approached, rather than the filthy seats and over crowded passenger area.”
As we drove through Itaparica Island for an almost two hour ride I could not believe the beautiful scenery. Stunning broad vistas of palm speckled green hills rolling off into the distance and bamboo lined streets gave the island a feel of being lost in paradise. Certainly this was further improved by the appearance of the sea in the distance and hibiscus flowers popping up from their sleep. I would have to describe the island as neglected with care. Plants are overgrown and buildings aged, but everything seems to have a place and meaning. We passed a palm plantation that specialized in small red coconuts used in the local cuisine and it was so impressive – palms spaced out as far as the eye could see with their waving fronds and leaf covered trunks.
Megan writes, “Once on the island we made our way in the tour bus on a heavily cratered highway. You would think asteroids had showered the tiny islands only thoroughfare as we bounced, shook and teetered to every swerve. The island, covered in lush vegetation so thick and green that it would be easy to surmise that even the root systems and limbs reached every one of the seven thousand kilometers of coastline. Can you imagine?”
After a very pleasant, although long ride, we arrived in Maragogipinho were there is a traditional village rich in the ceramic traditions. We were told that this is the only colony in Brazil that has such an elaborate and talented trade in ceramics, though there are maybe two or three of lesser craftsmanship. It was almost as if the appearance of our bus prompted every child in town to make an appearance. They found us fascinating. We walked amongst the small palm covered structures, stepping carefully around broken fragments of some discarded ceramic and into the cool shade of the shops. There were so many amazing pieces I found it hard to decide what to buy, and prices were cheap, too cheap I think for the beautiful work.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Palm trees sprouted from hills, ravines and beaches. The knolls looking like pincushions specked with the lofty palms. We passed dende plantations, their palms with their small red coconuts, where row upon row upon row of the trees were laid out like a patchwork quilt.
After an hour and a half we reached Maragogipinho. Children ran alongside the bus as we approached, some with book bags from their hours at school. The smell was dreamlike, that is to say, I felt like an October morning when the warm, spicy smell of mulled cider, chimney smoke and cold air greets you in the morning. The only inconsistency to my imaginary wanderings – the sun-drenched paths, scorching sun, and trees still clutching their leaves, fingers clinging to their emerald beauty.
Heather writes, “The town was situated on a small river, with quaint little boats lining the bank, rocking in the gentle current. The kids followed us everywhere, though we could only smile because they spoke Portuguese. We spent some time walking around and visiting the various shops before making a purchase and found the village a very welcoming place.”
Inside shacks and lean-tos created from wooden sticks, kilns and ranks of ceramic creations as far as the eye could see. Each dwelling the same. We spent an hour and a half there, walking the small paths, talking amongst each other, enjoying the sunlight and time to unwind. One girl bought some of the children lollipops and I found myself regretting that I had not brought jolly ranchers. I never thought that the ceramics production would be right in the village, the whole area dedicated to its manufacture with so many children. In the future I will probably try to always pack a little bit of jolly ranchers for such surprises. They follow you around with wandering eyes, pointing and speaking in a language unknown to you. But they seem so happy.
Heather writes, “The people are so friendly though we have no means of understanding each other. Megan and I found it fun and difficult to purchase some of their wares, shaking our heads yes and no, and holding our fingers up to show that we want four of something. Eventually we managed and paid in US dollars, though change was another thing altogether, but that too worked out. An older man working at the pottery wheel, his hands wet with clay, seemed to be having a conversation with us. I caught the words for difficult and mathemathics, but we, him as well as us, had to shake our heads and smile, before we said, “dificile, ingles, si.” In the end an, “obrigado” did the trick than any other word could do and we left with our handmade crafts. They have such talent and I am very pleased with what we bought.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Though we have no common means of communication I think that some special meaning was conveyed to these people than mere words could say. I felt as if a whole conversation, separate from the verbal one of smiles and fragmented words in broken Spanish and English, was being held in the way we talked and moved our hands and looked at each other – a respect gained through simple acknowledgement of the other and shared humor as we each thought, “what are they saying?”
Megan writes, “I made several purchases; dollars were accepted which seems to be the case at any market. As the man only spoke Portuguese and Heather and I only English it was quite an adventure. One of the girls with us had a conversion chart for currency and he pointed out the total in reals and we paid in the dollar equivalent. Our change was in the local currency, which is perfect. He did have a difficult time finding the right amount. It is amazing what people are able to accomplish even without speaking the same language.”
It was a very relaxing and enlightening trip; the kids waving to us as we drove off and made our way back to the ship. It has been another very long day and I look forward to resting some tomorrow around the ship before our evening excursion, Bahia by night. Boa noite, or goodnight from Salvador da Bahia.
Megan writes, “We headed back, traversing the same route and returned to the ship around five thirty. Just in time for dinner we had our first dessert, a chocolate brownie and are going to purchase a calling card, shower, work on our first papers and go to sleep.”
September 14, 2005
Itaparica Island and Maragogipinho
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
A beautiful morning in Bahia with a gentle breeze sweeping through the port terminal is a welcome sign of what the day will bring. With curly hair, diffused for the first time, around eight thirty we departed for our field directed practicum under our anthropology professor Willie Smyth. There were only fourteen participants, which is quite a change from the overly large tours and boisterous crowd.
Heather writes, “Today was the first day since the beginning of the voyage that we wore our hair curly and I definitely think we threw some people off. At eight thirty we made our way by bus back up to the old district in the upper city and Pelourinho. Even in the morning hours Brazil evokes a certain charm. The city still holds a subdued whisper of a bygone era with small reminders of the modern day like the internet café squeezed between a colonial church and a lanchonete, which is the Portuguese spelling of a Brazilian fast food joint.”
Back at the same museum, only in the cellar, we were given a grand tour of the Archaeology collection of ceramics from the region. Again, I watched amazed while the expert spoke Portuguese, our tour guide translating, and he touching and holding the pieces that are more than five hundred years old. Photography was permitted and it was Heather’s turn in the limelight, as she found herself face-to-face with Wari ceramics, zoomorphs with frogs. I felt so glad that both of us have seen things in Brazil relating to our studies. Returning to Maryland we will most assuredly feel like indulged seniors in the art history department with all of our experiences.
Heather writes, “Our first stop was in the cellar of a Jesuit monastery that now houses the archaeology museum and a collection of Pre-Columbian ceramics from before the arrival of the Portuguese in Brazil. If yesterday was Megan’s forte, than today was definitely mine. To see so many different pieces from Brazil’s past was certainly a peek into what I enjoy so much about Pre-Columbian cultures. I was pleasantly surprised to find zoomorphic ceramics from the Wari, and was even more excited about a particular piece adorned with clay-fired frogs. The museum held a certain appeal in old-world charm, the vaulted like ceilings made of red stone, and the floors uneven brick.”
The museum was poorly lit, but provided for great photos with the flash, rather than a finicky half-lighting that are never very clear in photos. Equally, the granite, sand and whale oiled ceiling was incredibly unique and provided an unconventional appeal.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
After the museum we made our way to the ferry for a fifty-minute ride to Itaparica. We were supposed to have embarked on the ten thirty ferry, but our bus was too big, thus we found ourselves waiting for the eleven o’clock crossing. At last we were happy to be standing on the upper deck of the ferry taking some incredible pictures of the MV Explorer with the city as a backdrop. I have found it very interesting that Brazil is so cool. There is always a wonderful breeze and though I have found myself hot at times during the noon hours, it has been pleasantly cool at night and quite breezy during the day.
Megan writes, “We left the museum for the ferry to Itaparica Island, waiting about an hour for the larger ferry to arrive, as even the mini tour bus was unable to fit on the ten-thirty departure. We went to the top deck of the ferry, able to see our ship and the Salvador coast touched by the first rays of the young sun as she made her ascent. The captain invited the eight of us that were there at the time to the bridge, which seemed unusual, however fascinating. In the bridge the meandering path of the wind billowed through the deck as we watched our approach over fifty minutes to the island. The captain had family in the United States and it certainly provided more of a panorama of the beautiful island as we approached, rather than the filthy seats and over crowded passenger area.”
As we drove through Itaparica Island for an almost two hour ride I could not believe the beautiful scenery. Stunning broad vistas of palm speckled green hills rolling off into the distance and bamboo lined streets gave the island a feel of being lost in paradise. Certainly this was further improved by the appearance of the sea in the distance and hibiscus flowers popping up from their sleep. I would have to describe the island as neglected with care. Plants are overgrown and buildings aged, but everything seems to have a place and meaning. We passed a palm plantation that specialized in small red coconuts used in the local cuisine and it was so impressive – palms spaced out as far as the eye could see with their waving fronds and leaf covered trunks.
Megan writes, “Once on the island we made our way in the tour bus on a heavily cratered highway. You would think asteroids had showered the tiny islands only thoroughfare as we bounced, shook and teetered to every swerve. The island, covered in lush vegetation so thick and green that it would be easy to surmise that even the root systems and limbs reached every one of the seven thousand kilometers of coastline. Can you imagine?”
After a very pleasant, although long ride, we arrived in Maragogipinho were there is a traditional village rich in the ceramic traditions. We were told that this is the only colony in Brazil that has such an elaborate and talented trade in ceramics, though there are maybe two or three of lesser craftsmanship. It was almost as if the appearance of our bus prompted every child in town to make an appearance. They found us fascinating. We walked amongst the small palm covered structures, stepping carefully around broken fragments of some discarded ceramic and into the cool shade of the shops. There were so many amazing pieces I found it hard to decide what to buy, and prices were cheap, too cheap I think for the beautiful work.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Palm trees sprouted from hills, ravines and beaches. The knolls looking like pincushions specked with the lofty palms. We passed dende plantations, their palms with their small red coconuts, where row upon row upon row of the trees were laid out like a patchwork quilt.
After an hour and a half we reached Maragogipinho. Children ran alongside the bus as we approached, some with book bags from their hours at school. The smell was dreamlike, that is to say, I felt like an October morning when the warm, spicy smell of mulled cider, chimney smoke and cold air greets you in the morning. The only inconsistency to my imaginary wanderings – the sun-drenched paths, scorching sun, and trees still clutching their leaves, fingers clinging to their emerald beauty.
Heather writes, “The town was situated on a small river, with quaint little boats lining the bank, rocking in the gentle current. The kids followed us everywhere, though we could only smile because they spoke Portuguese. We spent some time walking around and visiting the various shops before making a purchase and found the village a very welcoming place.”
Inside shacks and lean-tos created from wooden sticks, kilns and ranks of ceramic creations as far as the eye could see. Each dwelling the same. We spent an hour and a half there, walking the small paths, talking amongst each other, enjoying the sunlight and time to unwind. One girl bought some of the children lollipops and I found myself regretting that I had not brought jolly ranchers. I never thought that the ceramics production would be right in the village, the whole area dedicated to its manufacture with so many children. In the future I will probably try to always pack a little bit of jolly ranchers for such surprises. They follow you around with wandering eyes, pointing and speaking in a language unknown to you. But they seem so happy.
Heather writes, “The people are so friendly though we have no means of understanding each other. Megan and I found it fun and difficult to purchase some of their wares, shaking our heads yes and no, and holding our fingers up to show that we want four of something. Eventually we managed and paid in US dollars, though change was another thing altogether, but that too worked out. An older man working at the pottery wheel, his hands wet with clay, seemed to be having a conversation with us. I caught the words for difficult and mathemathics, but we, him as well as us, had to shake our heads and smile, before we said, “dificile, ingles, si.” In the end an, “obrigado” did the trick than any other word could do and we left with our handmade crafts. They have such talent and I am very pleased with what we bought.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Though we have no common means of communication I think that some special meaning was conveyed to these people than mere words could say. I felt as if a whole conversation, separate from the verbal one of smiles and fragmented words in broken Spanish and English, was being held in the way we talked and moved our hands and looked at each other – a respect gained through simple acknowledgement of the other and shared humor as we each thought, “what are they saying?”
Megan writes, “I made several purchases; dollars were accepted which seems to be the case at any market. As the man only spoke Portuguese and Heather and I only English it was quite an adventure. One of the girls with us had a conversion chart for currency and he pointed out the total in reals and we paid in the dollar equivalent. Our change was in the local currency, which is perfect. He did have a difficult time finding the right amount. It is amazing what people are able to accomplish even without speaking the same language.”
It was a very relaxing and enlightening trip; the kids waving to us as we drove off and made our way back to the ship. It has been another very long day and I look forward to resting some tomorrow around the ship before our evening excursion, Bahia by night. Boa noite, or goodnight from Salvador da Bahia.
Megan writes, “We headed back, traversing the same route and returned to the ship around five thirty. Just in time for dinner we had our first dessert, a chocolate brownie and are going to purchase a calling card, shower, work on our first papers and go to sleep.”
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
A Very Special Day
September 13, 2005
Salvador da Bahia – At Last
We have arrived!! What more is there to say, but adrenaline and excitement fill me as I look out my porthole to the glare of the sun on the water, and the city, like a miniature New York skyline, draped over the tropical landscape.
Heather writes, “Wow! My first impression of Brazil as I awoke this morning was as if I were looking at the New York skyline from a distance. The sun was still rising, painting a backdrop of watercolors behind the black silhouette of the skyscrapers. What a site! Of course every city has a certain charm from a distance that is lost when you are only mere feet away. Yes, it has blackened buildings, and crumbling walls, but there are also little gems of colonial architecture spread throughout the city like the raisins in the cinnamon bread I eat for breakfast. Every once in a while something sweet and surprising bursts into view full of color and wonder. It is strange to compare the various places I have been, where most have nestled houses on the hills. It is different here, very green, and the houses are perched like regal thrones at the crest of the rising knolls.”
The blue envelope I placed on my nightstand last night greeted me this morning with warm wishes. From Mom and Dad, a “plan-ahead” that was probably the best idea for this trip – bringing cards from home with marked dates to open – was the cutest card I have ever seen. A clear, frosted bottle complete with impervious cork, and a scroll of parchment. It is now hanging on my wall by means of a magnet and I could not have wished for a more perfect card here below the equator. Perhaps I could find myself stranding on some small beach and send it home via Atlantic current, then again it is made of paper so I have some skepticism as to whether it would make it in one piece. Most likely it would be no more than fleshy pulp minced by the breakers of the open sea.
Heather writes, “I opened my second card of the voyage this morning and I think it is perhaps the cutest card I have ever seen and certainly very appropriate. The message in a bottle was so special and it made me feel as if perhaps it had floated on the tides all the way from mom and dad. It really does look like a glass bottle with a yellowed piece of parchment inside. Thanks for making me smile, and of course I will put the one-dollar to good use – postage is exactly one dollar or two and a half reals so you bought the postage for your postcard. Obrigado. That’s thank you, for the cute card and the email that we received this morning.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We went up to the seventh deck to take some pictures this morning and could not help noticing the blue of the water, which incidentally was very calm, and the beautiful little harbor with various makes of boats, of course there were catamarans. We have dressed today in our lightest clothes, khaki shorts and white t-shirts in observance of Candomble rituals, which we will attend later this afternoon.
I was surprised to find one of the staff members dressed in complete highland garb playing a bagpipe on the seventh deck. I do not know if there is some ritual behind this, but it was extremely difficult not to cry. It was eerie and beautiful with the sun bleaching the deck in yellow light and diffused warmth. I have thought about today for several days now, knowing that it was the four-month anniversary of Nana’s passing and hearing those bagpipes, the Highland Cathedral, felt almost like homage to her and her memory. I felt as if she were standing right there with me and was glad of the small weight around my neck, and over my heart that is her soul and love.
Megan writes, “We took the opportunity to see the panorama of Brazil on the open deck. After several photos of the marina, skyline and us, of course, a bagpiper dressed in tartan garb began meandering about the forward deck to the rhythm of Scottish tunes. I had heard a bagpiper on our departure from Venezuela, but had not really thought anything of it at the time. It was such a surprise to see him performing, what I assume, to be a typical and daily ritual for our arrivals in port. I couldn’t help think as I stood there consuming the images of the Brazilian coast and talking with several faculty and adult passengers that today is four months since Nana passed away and like at her funeral, a bagpiper was playing Scottish hymns. Her urn around my neck, I couldn’t help but hold back tears. Needless to say, it is the perfect beginning for our stay here in Brazil.”
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
After breakfast, and chatting with Betty and Bob we went to the computer lab to print out a letter for Ashley. We hope to be able to purchase stamps, postcards, and some envelops nearby as we have quite a few Venezuelan postcards to send home.
On a side note, I have to make such observations as they come to me; Heather and I have been fortunate enough to have wonderful passengers aboard. It always seem, not matter what trip we are on, that adult passengers offer to take a photo of us together. Again, this is just a reflection, and I am thrilled to have such superb acquaintances and friends on board who help us in our duality capture these memories. Thanks to all of you who make us smile.
After going through immigrations this morning, which is quite more detailed than Venezuela, I am ready to relax a couple hours, perhaps work on my first paper, and then head out around one o’clock for a glimpse around the port terminal and then the Afro-Brazilian and Candomble festivities at two o’clock. The officials want to see everyone face-to-face and stamp each passport at that time so imagine about seven hundred students lined up for the process. It worked well and was quite expedient. Now I can disembark.
Heather writes, “We had immigrations this morning at around ten o’clock and went through the process like a breeze. The lines were quite long, but thanks to the organization of semester at sea it was a piece of cake. We now have an official stamp in our passports from Brazil, and as I look at it I wonder at the haphazardness with which the stamps are placed – usually in any open space and in no order with the visas and such.”
Heather and I enjoyed lunch on the back deck with an adult passenger. We enjoyed the comfort of the outdoors and eating outside for the first time; Salvador feet away over the railing and students disembarking for their travels.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We had lunch after the diplomatic briefing and lounged around the ship for about an hour before our scheduled field program. Megan and I had lunch outside on the deck and it was a nice treat to sit in the sun, bask in the Brazilian rays, and relax. We looked out the window in our cabin to see several Brazilian women in traditional dress welcoming the students to Salvador. They were also distributing ribbons, which hopefully they will still be there when we disembark at one thirty. The ribbons have a special meaning as the wearer is supposed to make a wish. When the ribbon falls off and breaks free the wish comes true.
We left the ship around one thirty for our Afro-Brazilian Museum visit and Candomble House. After boarding the tour bus we made our way into the upper city and Pelourinho. The streets were very narrow and quite steep, barely able to squeeze two buses together. The Afro-Brazilian Museum was located in the center of Pelourinho around a beautiful little square bustling with vendors. I think what I like most about Brazil is how the old meets the new. It took me all day to think about what is so appealing about the city, and I think it would have to be that it feels very much like some tropical exotic place, overgrown with palms and vines and verdant foliage of the deepest greens, spanning stone buildings, creeping up walls and peeking through cobblestones. It was almost as if I had walked into some ancient civilization that was built over with colonial architecture and forgotten for another millennia.
The Afro-Brazilian Museum had such a surprising variety of African arts that I know Megan was totally immersed in her world. Among other things they had gelede masks, akua-ba figures (my personal favorite), Asante ceremonial staffs, Ibeji figures (another favorite), and gold weights. One of the many rooms was dedicated to the Candomble orishas, which have roots in the African Yoruba culture. Carybe, an artist, sculpted the many orishas in long wooden planks. The detail was absolutely incredible. Of course there was an Ibeji piece with the twin figures and I told Megan that we should get a picture of us with it. One of the adults on the trip, who happens to be the wife of one of our professors offered to take the photo, and before we knew it Megan and I were the main attraction. I think everybody in our group snapped a shot. I bet my cheeks turned bright red, but it was so much fun. I wondered when the twin thing would start to be played up in the ports and never expected or thought about it happening in Brazil. And that was certainly not the end.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
After finally disembarking we headed with our tour group to the Afro-Brazilian museum. To my shock and utter excitement the first pieces visible were gelede masks from the Yoruba. I feel like I am back in Washington D.C. making my monthly visits to the National Museum of African Art. I have never seen so many intricate, beautiful, colorful, complex gelede masks. As this museum is relaxed and not the stuffy atmosphere of many American museums, most pieces were merely displayed, no glass Vitrine. In addition, photography was widely permitted. Yes Dad, I can now show you some of my favorite masks, although Chi-wara still remains my favorite. They had a couple other masks, including Bogo, as well as Asante gold weights, Fan linguist staffs, Kuba ndop, Asante Akua-ba, Yoruba Ibeji figures, and Kuba cut-pile raffia. Never have I felt so intimate and at ease with the art.
We were lectured on the Candomble beliefs and orishas to which most of the information I had previously learned. I felt like a private tour guide among the group. Candomble is largely based in Yoruba beliefs. Here in Brazil it is combined with the Angola-Congo, Ghana, and Caboclo cultures.
Perhaps the most wonderful part of the museum was the wooden panels covering the entire third room. Each was a carving of an orisha like Yemanja (yes I was incorrect as to the spelling in a previous blog), Ogun, Shango/Xango, Ibeji, and many many more. I loved the detailed of these pieces and took lots of pictures. The Ibeji panel was particularly fabulous and after an adult passenger inquired if we wanted our picture with the artwork, we found ourselves becoming part of the museum collection. No sooner had she snapped a photo than every other person on the tour visit began taking his or her own shots. I had no idea Ibeji was so largely recognized and celebrated outside Africa. If I really do write my undergraduate honors thesis on some element of these special figures, what wonderful material and insight I will be able to contribute from first hand experiences.
Heather writes, “After the museum we walked down, literally because you could have fallen down it was so steep, the cobbled road to the bus. I think I could have bought one of everything as we passed the shops. There were some really beautiful paintings of Pelourinho that I think would look absolutely wonderful in the new kitchen because they are so bright and animated. I hope that we see some at the craft market in a couple of days, though I know that other students have mentioned that they are everywhere.”
After leaving the museum we walked through Pelourinho, the many crafts and paintings reminding me of Caribbean markets we have visited. Some of the paintings were really beautiful and I might have a weak moment when I go to the Mercado Modelo in a couple days. The streets we steep and cobbled, actually quite bumpy, but with a special charm.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
I did not get a ribbon today for my wrist but I know that I got something much better. Shortly after boarding the bus we arrived at the Candomble House, small brightly painted buildings spread out amongst leafy growth and towering trees. It is so green here. The ground was covered in sand and a small group of boys were playing soccer.
Megan writes, “We boarded the tour bus and headed to the Candomble house. Never would I have been prepared for this element of the visit. At first I was amazed at the community within the Candomble, boys playing soccer, women working on textiles, and the priestess welcoming us to her house. The grounds were covered in sand and scattered with colorful leaves from the fertile and lush tropical vegetation. Being able to the see the place they perform, the houses dedicated to orishas, and the school where the children go was the most personal experience I have had thus far. Two boys sang a song to Yemanja, their voices soft and childlike, chanting. We clapped and they anxiously waited for photos of them to be taken so they could look at themselves in the tiny screens.”
Finally, the highlight of the whole trip. Many of us bought beaded necklaces symbolic of our personal orisha, and of course Megan and I are the Ibeji or twin deities. It is actually ironic that the necklace I would have chosen is the one that represents the twins. One of the women at the Candomble House saw us and before we knew it there were exclamations of joy at our appearance. September, we were told by the tour guide, is the month of the twins in Candomble culture, especially the twenty-seventh of the month. The Candomble priestess began blessing the necklaces that we had bought and it felt so much like something you read about in books or see in movies.
Megan writes, “Before leaving this amazing experience we were able to purchase beaded necklaces and even though we have not had the opportunity to exchange currency, dollars were accepted. The strands of beads come in the colors attributed to the various orishas, green for Yemanja and so on. Ibeji happens to be multiple colors and I would have to assume, my best educated guess, that as Ibeji is not actually an orisha it receives all colors. Ibeji are actually spirits governed by Shango/Xango (multiple spellings here) and as such can either be advantageous or detrimental to a community. A village facing drought, high infant mortality, or some other disaster, would pay respect to Xango. Twins in the community are worshipped and given special priority to help as positive reinforcement. As spirits they can appeal to the orishas to aid the village.”
She sat on a stonewall, low to the ground with her feet in the sand. The priestess mashed green leaves from a nearby plant with water in a stone bowl and in went our necklaces. Then she stood, chanting in Yoruba, and raised the bowl to the right, then center, then left. Placing the slate colored stone bowl back on the sandy earth she pulled the necklaces from their greenish brew and held them up to the sky invoking the name of the Ibeji. Megan went first, bowing to the priestess who put the beads on her own head before placing them on Megan’s head to evoke the ashe, or power. Still chanting she lay the beads delicately around Megan’s neck and lowered her forehead to meet her own.
Megan writes, “One of the women pointed out to the high priestess that we were twins and she performed a special blessing on the necklaces. She performed this for several individuals, but ours was inherently, and uniquely exceptional. Mixing the beads in a bowl with plants and green liquid, and singing in the Yoruba tongue, she raised the chains to the sky and touched them to our forehead.”
Then it was my turn and I could not help but feel some special power in her words as I heard the word Ibeji. It felt so special and intimate in a way I don’t think I could ever truly describe. I think it is times like this that I truly am so grateful to be a twin and have the best sister that anyone could ever wish for. Once she finished the ritual with me she opened up her arms to both of us and lowered our heads. Many of the other students and adults received the blessing as well, but Megan and I were greeted with an additional ceremony. She put her left hand on my shoulder, her right on Megan’s and chanted to the orishas as all three of us stood in a small circle closed to outsiders. When I think about it now, I can’t help but feel as if we were given such a wonderful gift.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
It was approaching dusk and in the light of the waning sun and kiss of darkness, we could see in the shadows many of the members of the community smiling, their eyes beaming. On a side note, the necklaces were of course covered in green plant juice and incidentally made quite a mural on our white Aruba t-shirts. We wore this top because it was the closest apparel we had, with khakis shorts, in following with the Candomble belief. On top of that, it had just come back from the cleaners. Ironically, I really don’t care. And yes, we did get the rest of our laundry back this morning.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Megan had asked Bob to take some pictures on our camera and he did such a great job getting some shots of the priestess conducting the ceremony. Mom and dad, I can’t wait to show you the pictures, and I have to say that this has been the best experience of the trip thus far. I think it will be hard to beat, but there are still so many ports left.
It is time for bed and tomorrow is another long day to Itaparica Island for the Traditional Ceramics directed practicum with our Anthropology professor. It should be a lot of fun. I haven’t said this in my journal yet, but I love you all and miss you.
One last thing, mom, we have a very special necklace for you. We could never forget you and had the priestess bless a necklace for our best friend.
Megan writes, “Today has been amazing and monumental. I have thought about Nana, wearing my urn under my t-shirt, and I have thought about home. The nights are cool and comfortable and I am ready for sleep.”
Salvador da Bahia – At Last
We have arrived!! What more is there to say, but adrenaline and excitement fill me as I look out my porthole to the glare of the sun on the water, and the city, like a miniature New York skyline, draped over the tropical landscape.
Heather writes, “Wow! My first impression of Brazil as I awoke this morning was as if I were looking at the New York skyline from a distance. The sun was still rising, painting a backdrop of watercolors behind the black silhouette of the skyscrapers. What a site! Of course every city has a certain charm from a distance that is lost when you are only mere feet away. Yes, it has blackened buildings, and crumbling walls, but there are also little gems of colonial architecture spread throughout the city like the raisins in the cinnamon bread I eat for breakfast. Every once in a while something sweet and surprising bursts into view full of color and wonder. It is strange to compare the various places I have been, where most have nestled houses on the hills. It is different here, very green, and the houses are perched like regal thrones at the crest of the rising knolls.”
The blue envelope I placed on my nightstand last night greeted me this morning with warm wishes. From Mom and Dad, a “plan-ahead” that was probably the best idea for this trip – bringing cards from home with marked dates to open – was the cutest card I have ever seen. A clear, frosted bottle complete with impervious cork, and a scroll of parchment. It is now hanging on my wall by means of a magnet and I could not have wished for a more perfect card here below the equator. Perhaps I could find myself stranding on some small beach and send it home via Atlantic current, then again it is made of paper so I have some skepticism as to whether it would make it in one piece. Most likely it would be no more than fleshy pulp minced by the breakers of the open sea.
Heather writes, “I opened my second card of the voyage this morning and I think it is perhaps the cutest card I have ever seen and certainly very appropriate. The message in a bottle was so special and it made me feel as if perhaps it had floated on the tides all the way from mom and dad. It really does look like a glass bottle with a yellowed piece of parchment inside. Thanks for making me smile, and of course I will put the one-dollar to good use – postage is exactly one dollar or two and a half reals so you bought the postage for your postcard. Obrigado. That’s thank you, for the cute card and the email that we received this morning.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We went up to the seventh deck to take some pictures this morning and could not help noticing the blue of the water, which incidentally was very calm, and the beautiful little harbor with various makes of boats, of course there were catamarans. We have dressed today in our lightest clothes, khaki shorts and white t-shirts in observance of Candomble rituals, which we will attend later this afternoon.
I was surprised to find one of the staff members dressed in complete highland garb playing a bagpipe on the seventh deck. I do not know if there is some ritual behind this, but it was extremely difficult not to cry. It was eerie and beautiful with the sun bleaching the deck in yellow light and diffused warmth. I have thought about today for several days now, knowing that it was the four-month anniversary of Nana’s passing and hearing those bagpipes, the Highland Cathedral, felt almost like homage to her and her memory. I felt as if she were standing right there with me and was glad of the small weight around my neck, and over my heart that is her soul and love.
Megan writes, “We took the opportunity to see the panorama of Brazil on the open deck. After several photos of the marina, skyline and us, of course, a bagpiper dressed in tartan garb began meandering about the forward deck to the rhythm of Scottish tunes. I had heard a bagpiper on our departure from Venezuela, but had not really thought anything of it at the time. It was such a surprise to see him performing, what I assume, to be a typical and daily ritual for our arrivals in port. I couldn’t help think as I stood there consuming the images of the Brazilian coast and talking with several faculty and adult passengers that today is four months since Nana passed away and like at her funeral, a bagpiper was playing Scottish hymns. Her urn around my neck, I couldn’t help but hold back tears. Needless to say, it is the perfect beginning for our stay here in Brazil.”
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
After breakfast, and chatting with Betty and Bob we went to the computer lab to print out a letter for Ashley. We hope to be able to purchase stamps, postcards, and some envelops nearby as we have quite a few Venezuelan postcards to send home.
On a side note, I have to make such observations as they come to me; Heather and I have been fortunate enough to have wonderful passengers aboard. It always seem, not matter what trip we are on, that adult passengers offer to take a photo of us together. Again, this is just a reflection, and I am thrilled to have such superb acquaintances and friends on board who help us in our duality capture these memories. Thanks to all of you who make us smile.
After going through immigrations this morning, which is quite more detailed than Venezuela, I am ready to relax a couple hours, perhaps work on my first paper, and then head out around one o’clock for a glimpse around the port terminal and then the Afro-Brazilian and Candomble festivities at two o’clock. The officials want to see everyone face-to-face and stamp each passport at that time so imagine about seven hundred students lined up for the process. It worked well and was quite expedient. Now I can disembark.
Heather writes, “We had immigrations this morning at around ten o’clock and went through the process like a breeze. The lines were quite long, but thanks to the organization of semester at sea it was a piece of cake. We now have an official stamp in our passports from Brazil, and as I look at it I wonder at the haphazardness with which the stamps are placed – usually in any open space and in no order with the visas and such.”
Heather and I enjoyed lunch on the back deck with an adult passenger. We enjoyed the comfort of the outdoors and eating outside for the first time; Salvador feet away over the railing and students disembarking for their travels.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We had lunch after the diplomatic briefing and lounged around the ship for about an hour before our scheduled field program. Megan and I had lunch outside on the deck and it was a nice treat to sit in the sun, bask in the Brazilian rays, and relax. We looked out the window in our cabin to see several Brazilian women in traditional dress welcoming the students to Salvador. They were also distributing ribbons, which hopefully they will still be there when we disembark at one thirty. The ribbons have a special meaning as the wearer is supposed to make a wish. When the ribbon falls off and breaks free the wish comes true.
We left the ship around one thirty for our Afro-Brazilian Museum visit and Candomble House. After boarding the tour bus we made our way into the upper city and Pelourinho. The streets were very narrow and quite steep, barely able to squeeze two buses together. The Afro-Brazilian Museum was located in the center of Pelourinho around a beautiful little square bustling with vendors. I think what I like most about Brazil is how the old meets the new. It took me all day to think about what is so appealing about the city, and I think it would have to be that it feels very much like some tropical exotic place, overgrown with palms and vines and verdant foliage of the deepest greens, spanning stone buildings, creeping up walls and peeking through cobblestones. It was almost as if I had walked into some ancient civilization that was built over with colonial architecture and forgotten for another millennia.
The Afro-Brazilian Museum had such a surprising variety of African arts that I know Megan was totally immersed in her world. Among other things they had gelede masks, akua-ba figures (my personal favorite), Asante ceremonial staffs, Ibeji figures (another favorite), and gold weights. One of the many rooms was dedicated to the Candomble orishas, which have roots in the African Yoruba culture. Carybe, an artist, sculpted the many orishas in long wooden planks. The detail was absolutely incredible. Of course there was an Ibeji piece with the twin figures and I told Megan that we should get a picture of us with it. One of the adults on the trip, who happens to be the wife of one of our professors offered to take the photo, and before we knew it Megan and I were the main attraction. I think everybody in our group snapped a shot. I bet my cheeks turned bright red, but it was so much fun. I wondered when the twin thing would start to be played up in the ports and never expected or thought about it happening in Brazil. And that was certainly not the end.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
After finally disembarking we headed with our tour group to the Afro-Brazilian museum. To my shock and utter excitement the first pieces visible were gelede masks from the Yoruba. I feel like I am back in Washington D.C. making my monthly visits to the National Museum of African Art. I have never seen so many intricate, beautiful, colorful, complex gelede masks. As this museum is relaxed and not the stuffy atmosphere of many American museums, most pieces were merely displayed, no glass Vitrine. In addition, photography was widely permitted. Yes Dad, I can now show you some of my favorite masks, although Chi-wara still remains my favorite. They had a couple other masks, including Bogo, as well as Asante gold weights, Fan linguist staffs, Kuba ndop, Asante Akua-ba, Yoruba Ibeji figures, and Kuba cut-pile raffia. Never have I felt so intimate and at ease with the art.
We were lectured on the Candomble beliefs and orishas to which most of the information I had previously learned. I felt like a private tour guide among the group. Candomble is largely based in Yoruba beliefs. Here in Brazil it is combined with the Angola-Congo, Ghana, and Caboclo cultures.
Perhaps the most wonderful part of the museum was the wooden panels covering the entire third room. Each was a carving of an orisha like Yemanja (yes I was incorrect as to the spelling in a previous blog), Ogun, Shango/Xango, Ibeji, and many many more. I loved the detailed of these pieces and took lots of pictures. The Ibeji panel was particularly fabulous and after an adult passenger inquired if we wanted our picture with the artwork, we found ourselves becoming part of the museum collection. No sooner had she snapped a photo than every other person on the tour visit began taking his or her own shots. I had no idea Ibeji was so largely recognized and celebrated outside Africa. If I really do write my undergraduate honors thesis on some element of these special figures, what wonderful material and insight I will be able to contribute from first hand experiences.
Heather writes, “After the museum we walked down, literally because you could have fallen down it was so steep, the cobbled road to the bus. I think I could have bought one of everything as we passed the shops. There were some really beautiful paintings of Pelourinho that I think would look absolutely wonderful in the new kitchen because they are so bright and animated. I hope that we see some at the craft market in a couple of days, though I know that other students have mentioned that they are everywhere.”
After leaving the museum we walked through Pelourinho, the many crafts and paintings reminding me of Caribbean markets we have visited. Some of the paintings were really beautiful and I might have a weak moment when I go to the Mercado Modelo in a couple days. The streets we steep and cobbled, actually quite bumpy, but with a special charm.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
I did not get a ribbon today for my wrist but I know that I got something much better. Shortly after boarding the bus we arrived at the Candomble House, small brightly painted buildings spread out amongst leafy growth and towering trees. It is so green here. The ground was covered in sand and a small group of boys were playing soccer.
Megan writes, “We boarded the tour bus and headed to the Candomble house. Never would I have been prepared for this element of the visit. At first I was amazed at the community within the Candomble, boys playing soccer, women working on textiles, and the priestess welcoming us to her house. The grounds were covered in sand and scattered with colorful leaves from the fertile and lush tropical vegetation. Being able to the see the place they perform, the houses dedicated to orishas, and the school where the children go was the most personal experience I have had thus far. Two boys sang a song to Yemanja, their voices soft and childlike, chanting. We clapped and they anxiously waited for photos of them to be taken so they could look at themselves in the tiny screens.”
Finally, the highlight of the whole trip. Many of us bought beaded necklaces symbolic of our personal orisha, and of course Megan and I are the Ibeji or twin deities. It is actually ironic that the necklace I would have chosen is the one that represents the twins. One of the women at the Candomble House saw us and before we knew it there were exclamations of joy at our appearance. September, we were told by the tour guide, is the month of the twins in Candomble culture, especially the twenty-seventh of the month. The Candomble priestess began blessing the necklaces that we had bought and it felt so much like something you read about in books or see in movies.
Megan writes, “Before leaving this amazing experience we were able to purchase beaded necklaces and even though we have not had the opportunity to exchange currency, dollars were accepted. The strands of beads come in the colors attributed to the various orishas, green for Yemanja and so on. Ibeji happens to be multiple colors and I would have to assume, my best educated guess, that as Ibeji is not actually an orisha it receives all colors. Ibeji are actually spirits governed by Shango/Xango (multiple spellings here) and as such can either be advantageous or detrimental to a community. A village facing drought, high infant mortality, or some other disaster, would pay respect to Xango. Twins in the community are worshipped and given special priority to help as positive reinforcement. As spirits they can appeal to the orishas to aid the village.”
She sat on a stonewall, low to the ground with her feet in the sand. The priestess mashed green leaves from a nearby plant with water in a stone bowl and in went our necklaces. Then she stood, chanting in Yoruba, and raised the bowl to the right, then center, then left. Placing the slate colored stone bowl back on the sandy earth she pulled the necklaces from their greenish brew and held them up to the sky invoking the name of the Ibeji. Megan went first, bowing to the priestess who put the beads on her own head before placing them on Megan’s head to evoke the ashe, or power. Still chanting she lay the beads delicately around Megan’s neck and lowered her forehead to meet her own.
Megan writes, “One of the women pointed out to the high priestess that we were twins and she performed a special blessing on the necklaces. She performed this for several individuals, but ours was inherently, and uniquely exceptional. Mixing the beads in a bowl with plants and green liquid, and singing in the Yoruba tongue, she raised the chains to the sky and touched them to our forehead.”
Then it was my turn and I could not help but feel some special power in her words as I heard the word Ibeji. It felt so special and intimate in a way I don’t think I could ever truly describe. I think it is times like this that I truly am so grateful to be a twin and have the best sister that anyone could ever wish for. Once she finished the ritual with me she opened up her arms to both of us and lowered our heads. Many of the other students and adults received the blessing as well, but Megan and I were greeted with an additional ceremony. She put her left hand on my shoulder, her right on Megan’s and chanted to the orishas as all three of us stood in a small circle closed to outsiders. When I think about it now, I can’t help but feel as if we were given such a wonderful gift.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
It was approaching dusk and in the light of the waning sun and kiss of darkness, we could see in the shadows many of the members of the community smiling, their eyes beaming. On a side note, the necklaces were of course covered in green plant juice and incidentally made quite a mural on our white Aruba t-shirts. We wore this top because it was the closest apparel we had, with khakis shorts, in following with the Candomble belief. On top of that, it had just come back from the cleaners. Ironically, I really don’t care. And yes, we did get the rest of our laundry back this morning.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Megan had asked Bob to take some pictures on our camera and he did such a great job getting some shots of the priestess conducting the ceremony. Mom and dad, I can’t wait to show you the pictures, and I have to say that this has been the best experience of the trip thus far. I think it will be hard to beat, but there are still so many ports left.
It is time for bed and tomorrow is another long day to Itaparica Island for the Traditional Ceramics directed practicum with our Anthropology professor. It should be a lot of fun. I haven’t said this in my journal yet, but I love you all and miss you.
One last thing, mom, we have a very special necklace for you. We could never forget you and had the priestess bless a necklace for our best friend.
Megan writes, “Today has been amazing and monumental. I have thought about Nana, wearing my urn under my t-shirt, and I have thought about home. The nights are cool and comfortable and I am ready for sleep.”
Monday, September 12, 2005
One More Day
September 11, 2005
At Sea
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
The sea has been rough all day with long swells and a height of approximately six to seven feet. It seems as if everything has slowed down, and I hesitate to say it, but established a routine. Though I know that will be out the porthole in two days when we arrive in Brazil.
Today is laundry day and we have sent two bags off to be cleaned. Hopefully all goes well and everything will return clean and pressed. I am tired of studying and cannot wait for this exam to be over.
We had the cultural pre-port tonight and Brazil looks incredible. I don’t know what I expected but if we make it to the places they suggested than we should see some really beautiful parts of the city. We were told that wearing shorts and tank tops is perfectly acceptable, and white is the best color to wear to a Candomble House, which we will be going to on the thirteenth day of September. Apparently Itaparica, an island off of Salvador has an incredible beach, so I am also looking forward to spending some time there as well with the Traditional Ceramics FDP. Pelourinho has some awesome shopping and the pictures they showed us remind me of a mixture of Curacao and Bermuda with the pastel painted colonial architecture and narrow roads. There is also a craft market at the terminal, and I cannot wait to exchange money to shop!
Tomorrow is the exam and hopefully it will not be that difficult. We were assigned a specific room for the exam, and Megan and I will be taking the test in the Garden Lounge on Deck Six.
We had three minutes of silence tonight at the pre-port for the victims of 9-11, the tsunamis in Asia and Katrina disaster in the United States, and stood listening to the sounds of the ship. I have to admit that I half expected someone to fall over, but I had a firm grasp on the chair in front of me.
September 12, 2005
At Sea
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
The last couple days have been filled with constant studying for my first exam. I found the test to be straightforward, specifically with statistics on the countries and class lectures. However, some of the questions referring to articles read outside class were a little more difficult. To better prepare for this section of the exam in the future I will focus a little more note taking and review on the minor details and concepts within these articles.
Heather writes, “One more day to go! We had the Global Studies exam this morning and it went pretty well. I found many of the questions to be quite easy, especially the statistical ones concerning Brazil and Venezuela. However, some of the more in-depth, below the surface questions definitely required a full understanding of the people, so hopefully I did enough studying and passed with flying colors. It’s normal that I always worry, and still I do fine.”
One bag of laundry was returned, including pajamas, socks, and a multitude of t-shirts, all freshly washed and perfectly ironed. I am trying to remain calm and patient for the return of the second bag. However, it is easy to agonize over the clothes that would be lost which included all of my shorts, minus one pair, my blue-jeans, Terp towel, and several tank-tops. It seems as if all of the laundry has been returned and I cannot explain why this one is missing. If I see our room steward I will inquire as to its absence. Until then, I glance out the door every couple of minutes hoping to see my garments.
Heather writes, “Our steward brought us our laundry, nice, clean, and pressed, but we are still waiting on one bag. I hope nothing has happened to it because it contained blue jeans, shorts, and beach towels. Needless to say that if it is gone then we are down to one pair of blue jeans each and one pair of shorts. There were a couple of tops in the bag as well, but those are mostly dispensable.”
The ocean is still pitching from side to side, relentless in its routine. Soon we will be docked in Salvador and it will be so wonderful for a break on land. I love the ship and my cabin, but a change of scenery will be a welcome reprieve. Never have I spent this long away from land, but I love every minute of “being between the blue” as Heather calls it.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We checked our weblog this morning and our email and had several responses to our last couple of days on the ship. Yes, I am eating my peas, mom, we opened it on the first day, and we have also opened the cards for Venezuela that have a stack of about five chocolate chip cookies on the front. Tomorrow we get to open another. It seems as if each semester there is a cookie card, and I am glad you did not let this semester slip by without one. Ms. Nan, about the cookies, I wish we had some!
Megan writes, “Yes, I have eaten my peas…but no, seriously, the book Eat Your Peas is adorable. There is, of course, a story that goes along with that. As instructed we opened the small gift the day after we departed Nassau. Since then, we have opened the card for Venezuela in which chocolate chip cookies tempt the wandering eyes. Cute card. My eyesight at the point of receiving the little book was extremely fuzzy due to the seasickness patch so Heather had to read it to me. I tried to enjoy the colors and cute text, but to no avail. Since then, and now that I see perfectly, I glance at it every night on my nightstand and every morning.”
We have traveled two thousand four hundred thirty one miles since La Guaira and have started the countdown – three hundred sixty seven nautical miles to go. In actuality I believe we will arrive in Salvador tonight. The skies are cloudy and the ship is rocking. I replaced my patch this morning and feel great.
Megan writes, “It is almost time for dinner and I have finished my novel of five hundred and five pages. We have received a portion of our laundry from bag two, only the Terp blankets, and are anxiously awaiting the others return.”
So we are still missing laundry, but did receive our Terp beach towels. What does this mean? When do I get worried? Should I be concerned? If it is not here by tomorrow I will have to start asking questions. I think that perhaps because we requested the clean and press service that it is taking longer. We shall see.
We had dinner tonight with Betty and Bob, two of the adult passengers and had a great time talking. It was quite noisy in the Garden Lounge, and now I have a serious migraine. They might be doing the same field program tomorrow, which would be really exciting. They are from New Hampshire and Bob is a music teacher. I think what I like most about them is that they remind me of Nana and PopPop. I don’t know why, but they do. We are also going to become a part of their adopted family onboard and I am really looking forward to getting to know them better. It feels so great to find someone that I can really talk to and have an intellectual conversation.
Megan writes, “At dinner we sat with Betty and Bob, adult passengers onboard and extremely nice. We found out that we had missed the sign-up, somehow, for the adopt-a-family and it seems that we will most likely join their group. What fun. They are from New Hampshire (Mom and Dad, you might remember seeing them from before we boarded the ship).”
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Tonight is a pre-port logistics meeting from eight to nine and after that I will mostly likely do a little journaling and go to sleep. I am looking forward to visiting the Mercado Modelo, a folk art market with all kinds of Bahian handicrafts, as well as Pelourinho. Day two in Brazil will take us to Itaparica Island with our Field Directed Practicum on Traditional Ceramics. Of course, the beaches are famous for their clear waters and backdrop of verdant foliage. I sound like such a tourist.
Good night cosmic void…
(How poetic)
At Sea
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
The sea has been rough all day with long swells and a height of approximately six to seven feet. It seems as if everything has slowed down, and I hesitate to say it, but established a routine. Though I know that will be out the porthole in two days when we arrive in Brazil.
Today is laundry day and we have sent two bags off to be cleaned. Hopefully all goes well and everything will return clean and pressed. I am tired of studying and cannot wait for this exam to be over.
We had the cultural pre-port tonight and Brazil looks incredible. I don’t know what I expected but if we make it to the places they suggested than we should see some really beautiful parts of the city. We were told that wearing shorts and tank tops is perfectly acceptable, and white is the best color to wear to a Candomble House, which we will be going to on the thirteenth day of September. Apparently Itaparica, an island off of Salvador has an incredible beach, so I am also looking forward to spending some time there as well with the Traditional Ceramics FDP. Pelourinho has some awesome shopping and the pictures they showed us remind me of a mixture of Curacao and Bermuda with the pastel painted colonial architecture and narrow roads. There is also a craft market at the terminal, and I cannot wait to exchange money to shop!
Tomorrow is the exam and hopefully it will not be that difficult. We were assigned a specific room for the exam, and Megan and I will be taking the test in the Garden Lounge on Deck Six.
We had three minutes of silence tonight at the pre-port for the victims of 9-11, the tsunamis in Asia and Katrina disaster in the United States, and stood listening to the sounds of the ship. I have to admit that I half expected someone to fall over, but I had a firm grasp on the chair in front of me.
September 12, 2005
At Sea
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
The last couple days have been filled with constant studying for my first exam. I found the test to be straightforward, specifically with statistics on the countries and class lectures. However, some of the questions referring to articles read outside class were a little more difficult. To better prepare for this section of the exam in the future I will focus a little more note taking and review on the minor details and concepts within these articles.
Heather writes, “One more day to go! We had the Global Studies exam this morning and it went pretty well. I found many of the questions to be quite easy, especially the statistical ones concerning Brazil and Venezuela. However, some of the more in-depth, below the surface questions definitely required a full understanding of the people, so hopefully I did enough studying and passed with flying colors. It’s normal that I always worry, and still I do fine.”
One bag of laundry was returned, including pajamas, socks, and a multitude of t-shirts, all freshly washed and perfectly ironed. I am trying to remain calm and patient for the return of the second bag. However, it is easy to agonize over the clothes that would be lost which included all of my shorts, minus one pair, my blue-jeans, Terp towel, and several tank-tops. It seems as if all of the laundry has been returned and I cannot explain why this one is missing. If I see our room steward I will inquire as to its absence. Until then, I glance out the door every couple of minutes hoping to see my garments.
Heather writes, “Our steward brought us our laundry, nice, clean, and pressed, but we are still waiting on one bag. I hope nothing has happened to it because it contained blue jeans, shorts, and beach towels. Needless to say that if it is gone then we are down to one pair of blue jeans each and one pair of shorts. There were a couple of tops in the bag as well, but those are mostly dispensable.”
The ocean is still pitching from side to side, relentless in its routine. Soon we will be docked in Salvador and it will be so wonderful for a break on land. I love the ship and my cabin, but a change of scenery will be a welcome reprieve. Never have I spent this long away from land, but I love every minute of “being between the blue” as Heather calls it.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We checked our weblog this morning and our email and had several responses to our last couple of days on the ship. Yes, I am eating my peas, mom, we opened it on the first day, and we have also opened the cards for Venezuela that have a stack of about five chocolate chip cookies on the front. Tomorrow we get to open another. It seems as if each semester there is a cookie card, and I am glad you did not let this semester slip by without one. Ms. Nan, about the cookies, I wish we had some!
Megan writes, “Yes, I have eaten my peas…but no, seriously, the book Eat Your Peas is adorable. There is, of course, a story that goes along with that. As instructed we opened the small gift the day after we departed Nassau. Since then, we have opened the card for Venezuela in which chocolate chip cookies tempt the wandering eyes. Cute card. My eyesight at the point of receiving the little book was extremely fuzzy due to the seasickness patch so Heather had to read it to me. I tried to enjoy the colors and cute text, but to no avail. Since then, and now that I see perfectly, I glance at it every night on my nightstand and every morning.”
We have traveled two thousand four hundred thirty one miles since La Guaira and have started the countdown – three hundred sixty seven nautical miles to go. In actuality I believe we will arrive in Salvador tonight. The skies are cloudy and the ship is rocking. I replaced my patch this morning and feel great.
Megan writes, “It is almost time for dinner and I have finished my novel of five hundred and five pages. We have received a portion of our laundry from bag two, only the Terp blankets, and are anxiously awaiting the others return.”
So we are still missing laundry, but did receive our Terp beach towels. What does this mean? When do I get worried? Should I be concerned? If it is not here by tomorrow I will have to start asking questions. I think that perhaps because we requested the clean and press service that it is taking longer. We shall see.
We had dinner tonight with Betty and Bob, two of the adult passengers and had a great time talking. It was quite noisy in the Garden Lounge, and now I have a serious migraine. They might be doing the same field program tomorrow, which would be really exciting. They are from New Hampshire and Bob is a music teacher. I think what I like most about them is that they remind me of Nana and PopPop. I don’t know why, but they do. We are also going to become a part of their adopted family onboard and I am really looking forward to getting to know them better. It feels so great to find someone that I can really talk to and have an intellectual conversation.
Megan writes, “At dinner we sat with Betty and Bob, adult passengers onboard and extremely nice. We found out that we had missed the sign-up, somehow, for the adopt-a-family and it seems that we will most likely join their group. What fun. They are from New Hampshire (Mom and Dad, you might remember seeing them from before we boarded the ship).”
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Tonight is a pre-port logistics meeting from eight to nine and after that I will mostly likely do a little journaling and go to sleep. I am looking forward to visiting the Mercado Modelo, a folk art market with all kinds of Bahian handicrafts, as well as Pelourinho. Day two in Brazil will take us to Itaparica Island with our Field Directed Practicum on Traditional Ceramics. Of course, the beaches are famous for their clear waters and backdrop of verdant foliage. I sound like such a tourist.
Good night cosmic void…
(How poetic)
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Rough Seas
September 7, 2005
At Sea
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Classes started up again today, as does the beginning of drop/add. We each purchased the novel we are reading for Travelers’ Journals and are fully caught up, which of course means that we are ahead in our schoolwork.
Megan writes, “Today is drop/add day and there are no openings for the other class I wanted to sign up for. My wanting to enroll in another class is like a double-edged sword. I am perfectly content with the amount of work I have, reading and study time still seem a little stretched. I would have loved to have one more class though to transfer back to my home campus.”
The drop/add period is not going well and it does not seem like we are going to be able to add our fifth course. I am slightly disappointed, though it is no difficulty to take the course next semester at Maryland and still finish in two semesters. It feels very strange not to be taking an art history course, but I am enjoying the two anthropology courses very much and can’t wait to have another Travelers’ Journals class tomorrow.
In global studies we finished discussing Venezuela and moved to Latin America. All of our classes are going well, with the exception that our afternoon class was missing one very important person – the professor.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Heather and I purchased a ship calling card tonight and at seven o’clock called home for the first time. I thought I would cry when I heard Mom and Dad’s voices, but I was able to talk fine. Mom even thought the reception was so clear that we might have been sitting in the very next room. Things sound good there, but it is difficult to get a lot said in thirteen minutes. I felt so energized after talking to them and my spirits were back up to their peak. I will call them once a week, regardless of cost.
Heather writes, “We got through on the first call and found it hard to believe that we were not sitting in the next room because the connection was so clear. It was so good to hear their voices and the surprise in moms when she answered the phone; I think I almost cried to hear how happy her voice sounded. It was funny that their meal was almost the exact same thing as ours and both neither very good. We actually got a little more than thirteen minutes from the card and were finished saying our goodbyes when it hung up. It left me happy the rest of the night and we were in bed at eight o’clock.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
The sea was rough and I walked in a wavy line all day. One of the questions I am supposed to answer is, “Do I let the steward make my bed everyday?” and the answer is no I do not. I make my bed everyday after waking up at six, it’s just a routine, and it adds a little structure to the day, which is always packed with new and unexpected things. I have noticed that the bed has been tucked a little tighter than I am capable of doing on a couple of occasions and think perhaps that is due to the fact that the linens were changed entirely, but I like to keep the room neat because I enjoy it so much and looking out the window.
September 8, 2005
At Sea
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
I am quickly finding out that there is less to say while you are at sea, for obvious reasons. Nevertheless it still feels good to jot down some thoughts.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
It is amazing how much I missed this ship during my stay in Venezuela. It felt so good to return to the Explorer and walk into the garden lounge for mealtime to the greetings from the dining room staff. There are so many very nice people on the ship and they enjoy trying to tell the difference between us. We met one of the history professors today and another member of the staff who had heard about us, and it was fun to chat for a while. Perhaps at some point in this voyage I won’t have to answer twin questions anymore but for now the attention is great.
Megan writes, “This morning an adult passenger stopped Heather and I on our way to breakfast. “The twins!” he exclaimed. “I heard about you.” Apparently a majority of people knows there are twins on board and he was wholly pleased to have finally met us. Our RD came to our table while we were eating lunch and said hello. It sounds as if he knew about our online weblog and will be checking it out. So hey, Mike, how are you?”
On our way back to our cabin from breakfast Dean Beverly stopped us and asked to take a picture. She is a very bubbly, cheerful person, and though we have not talked much up to this point I look forward to chatting more. She wanted to send our picture to her mom, who is also a twin, but unfortunately her camera battery was dead, and so we promised to run into each other again.
The noon report announced that we have traveled seven hundred fifty three miles from port and have two thousand fifty miles to the closest shoreline, Suriname. The seas are calm with swells less than one foot. Tonight marks the first of many clock changes and we have been instructed to set our clocks ahead one hour, so technically goodbye hour, it is gone.
Megan writes, “We have to set our clocks ahead one hour before bed, and I will have to remember before calling home next time to take this into consideration. I am anxious for dinner and curious as to the menu. Until then I will read and study for the Global Studies exam the day before we reach Brazil.”
We had a second great class in Travelers’ Journals sharing our stories from Venezuela and taking fifteen minutes near the end to write. We had to turn them in, but I was hesitant because I loved what I wrote so much that I wanted to include it in my journal. I will have to add it later.
Here is an exercise we worked on in Travelers’ Journals that I might use in some revised version for my first story:
I spent my time on Coche wondering what these people were like and how they live, and I can’t imagine a more poignant moment than standing atop the conch mounds overlooking the Caribbean sea, the cornflower blue of the clear sky melting into the liquid blue of the harbor. “This is their trash heap,” I thought, shells discarded from the oyster farm after extracting their worth. I climbed, huffing and puffing, right over left, over right to the tallest mound in sight, white barnacled shells crunching under foot. Then gingerly I stepped, almost fell into the nearest valley of empty shells whiter than white in the harsh afternoon sun of the tropics. I did not take a shell back to the rusty truck bed that carried me here, dust spiraling from the wheels, just the memory of shell mountains overlooking the sea. Our young guide placed a battered shell in my white palm, bumpy and hard, porous and rough. I turned it over slowly, peeking into the shiny encrusted center folded around a tiny iridescent lump, a pearl, still small, stunted by growth. It’s not my pearl, almost blue, but rather black instead, and not my shell. This is how they live, fishing and pearls. The mounds are their life, though it may be just a garbage dump to them. This priceless memento is perhaps the most symbolic of the people and this place.
The entire afternoon was free to read our novels on deck and study for our global studies exam in a couple of days. We have sailed past Guyana, Suriname, and French Guiana on our way to Brazil.
We finished off the day by reading in our cabin before setting the clock forward one hour, thus making bedtime nine o’clock.
September 9, 2005
At Sea
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
I wake up each morning around six o’clock and find myself turning on the television to channel two. The red line on the screen pinpoints our current path. It is nice to be able to see where we have been, as well as where we are going.
After breakfast I checked my email and weblog. Mom and Dad had left a comment on our newest posting and it is like receiving a present for no other reason but just because.
Heather writes, “Tomorrow we pass the equator, but we are not celebrating Neptune’s Day. Apparently the Deans are on very friendly terms with King Neptune and decided to move the festivities to September twentieth due in part to the upcoming exam in Global Studies on the twelfth. Thus we will still be pollywogs, I think.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
The sea has been quite rough today, probably the worst in terms of swells, which were about five feet. You can see white tufts of foamy spray bouncing off the ship from the window in our cabin. I still have felt no seasickness, and the tiny rainbows created from the spray are dazzling, tiny arcs lasting mere seconds.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
In Field Methods we made a list of events that changed your life, or altered something about you, in which no one else was aware. Then a lengthy poem was read that we listened attentively to, especially the lyrical and expressive language. At its conclusion the class made a list of twenty words that we could remember. Referring back to our list of events we choose one and write about it using as many of the twenty words as possible. Here is my attempt on the exercise in which I detail my first time competitively swimming the five hundred freestyle:
The clear, shrill pitch of the whistle echoes off blue-gray walls. The sound is brief before silence, a hiatus in the cheers and murmur of friends, and then the splash into silver, opaque water that sets a fire in the flutter of feet and strokes of arm over arm over arm. The swimmer dives with a turn at the wall descending, streamline, composed. The number “one” etched translucent on her brain as she counts to herself. Like a seal giving chase to the alarming jaws of a shark in the silver light of the moon, only it is the flash of a camera or a glitter of light that is visible from her submerged face. The coverlet of water, translucent, swells around her torso, arms, legs. The counter reads 3, 5, 7…15, 17. A rush down the length of the pool, dark abyss below, victory one more lap to go. The rusty wet hinge of the lap counter screeches, bends unwillingly to reveal a sequin of red patches. She inhales, knowledge of the end mere inches away. Like a cod trapped, the netting secure and unyielding, she is out of breath, kick, stroke, kick, kick, into the wall.
Exercise two consisted of expressing a moment in Venezuela utilizing the same words, so here is the fruit from that labor:
One the island of Coche, the rusty anchorage of the catamaran, Yemaya, drops into the undulating swells of opaque saltwater. The coverlet of whitecaps and rolling breakers glitters translucent in the blue-gray depths. Dark roots of dune vegetation weave up and down, in and out, sequins of leaves woven like the tight netting of a bodice over the cinnamon sand. A clear, dirt path leads away from the briny beds of oysters to the conch mounds. There a young boy hands me a shell dimpled and cratered from barnacles, but its clandestine secret is revealed in the glow of the orb of fire, the sun. Iridescent protrusions, creamy abalone, pearls interrupted from sleep.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
I feel like I have neglected talking about the food on the ship and so I will jot down a brief overview. For breakfast I typically enjoy a bowl of cereal with skim milk, they also have whole, and on occasion low fat. The cereal selection varies each day, with about three choices; some include Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Special K, Rice Krispies, Cheerios, and Raisin Bran. There is also a selection of fruit ranging from pineapple, peaches, and pears, to grapes, apples, and oranges, though of late a large round green, citrus like fruit has made an appearance, which I hear is rather gross. Of course there is also eggs, pancakes, toast, bacon, sausage, and pastries, but I really enjoy having my bowl of cereal, fruit, and cinnamon raisin bread with butter and strawberry jelly. Of course, I can’t pass up sausage when it comes around.
Lunch is basically like dinner with a salad and vegetables, rice, and meat. Sometimes, like the other day there are means to make a sandwich or you might find grilled cheese with ham, which was fantastic. I have heard many students complain about the peanut butter, but it is always available, as is the jelly, and it does make a good sandwich. Today I had a peanut butter and jelly, though I am not sure whether it is grape or strawberry, and a bowl of minestrone. Although if you have a jelly preference, they have small packs at breakfast and you could always snag a few for later.
Dinner is just like lunch, a full meal, sometimes better than others. Typically if the lunch selection is better, the dinner is not, and vice versa, though there is always something to enjoy and satiate your appetite. There are only two selections of salad dressing at a time, usually Blue Cheese and Raspberry Vinaigrette make an appearance together, as do French and Creamy Italian, though there is also Ranch, and Italian, and I have as yet to see any Caesar, which is my favorite. Oh well! I have actually been using a lot of the Raspberry Vinaigrette. The vegetables are cooked very nicely and are not overdone like some school dining halls like to do, and the rolls at dinner are fabulous and fresh. I have not tried any dessert yet, but next time it is something that I would enjoy, I plan to indulge just once for the sake of documentation.
After dinner we returned to our cabin to find the second set of confirmed field programs, and at least something has gone right so far. Including pre-sale trips and the recent confirmation, we have been lucky enough to have received all our the trips we have chosen including the Nature Tour in South Africa, Wasini and Kisite Island Dhow after our safari and hot air balloon adventures in Kenya, the Cambodia: Temples of Angkor in Vietnam, and the Beijing/Xi’an trip. It is such a relief to know that I will be able to participate in all of the field programs that I so desperately wanted to experience.
September 10, 2005
A Rough Day At Sea
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Last night was very interesting because of the marked increase in the wave height, which inadvertently affects the pitching of the ship. I cannot wait until the noon report to find out the exact height, but calm seas is definitely not in the forecast today. I would not be exaggerating to say that our window has been completely covered by the salty spray, as bulging swells of water bolt across the backdrop of blue seas and white cloudy skies.
We have our first Global Studies exam in two days, and the only thing I have to do is study, study, study. I have been keeping up with all of my schoolwork and have managed to finish all of my readings up until our arrival in South Africa, which gives me plenty of time to read for Travelers’ Journals, though I am already halfway through the book and loving it, journal, and focus on my first paper which is due in about two weeks.
Megan writes, “Global Studies was possibly my favorite lecture thus far as it concerned the Candomble religion. Most orishas mentioned and its relationship with Yoruba roots draws me back to my studies with African art. I watched Heather glance occasionally at my notes for correct spellings of names. I am even more excited to witness these connections firsthand in two more days.”
I know this is only the beginning of rough seas to come, but thus far I still feel absolutely fine and dandy. I have actually had a couple of people tell me that I look too cheerful for the waves outside. I guess that many students are starting to feel the effects. From inside our cabin, you can hear all types of squeaking and squealing, bumps and bangs, as things topple over and the ship adjusts to each oncoming wave.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
This is perhaps the most severe day at sea since our departure in Nassau. Waves breaching against the hull of the ship explode off the side like fireworks, their foamy spray mixing with flecked prismatic confetti caught in the sunbeams that glide across the water. Up and down goes the ship, up and down, and still up and down again. Enormous breakers burst into the air and fly across our window on deck four. You anticipate the sizeable collisions with the moment of intensity and increased illumination that flees into the cabin. Never have I seen such waves. And yet, I am fine, minus the additional swaying and some stumbling on stairs I can admit to having experienced. I am quite surprised, and thankful, that this has not effected me in the least physically. However, several students are apparently feeling the oceans newfound passion with the wind.
Heather writes, “If this had been a luxury cruise and I had not been so prepared for the seasickness with every remedy known to man I can definitely see how I would probably be worshipping the porcelain god right now. I am great, and happy, and I actually don’t mind the swinging and swaying of the ship. It feels so good looking at the position report on the television and seeing that we have crossed the equator and only have two more days until Brazil. On another note, it was quite strange to have classes on a Saturday, and I had to keep reminding myself that it was the weekend and not Friday.”
It is amazing to think that our total distance since Venezuela is one thousand six hundred and six nautical miles. At an average speed of 17.4 knots, there are one thousand one hundred and ninety one nautical miles until we reach our next port. We will cross the equator today around 1700, but owing to our Global Studies exam in two days King Neptune has agreed to wait and make his appearance September 20, 2005, in what is sure to be a grand party for all soon to be ex-pollywogs.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We are actually crossing the equator today around seventeen hundred, looks like king Neptune gave us some rougher seas than expected – long swells, cloudy skies, and a wave height of six and a half feet. All is not calm across the deck. At one point this afternoon a resonating sound echoed off the ship to the swell of waves crashing against our windows on the fourth deck. I turned around so fast my right side went numb.
Megan writes, “As I study in my cabin, the creaking and popping of hinges creates an unwelcome concerto with the detonation of thundering waves beating against the ship.”
In honor of crossing the equator we had a barbeque on the pool deck for dinner. It was fantastic, and I had a hot dog. As with most cruise ships, the dessert was not so great, but the pool bar was selling jumbo chocolate chip cookies, and well I had a weak moment. We were just saying earlier how we wanted a chocolate chip cookie. It did the trick.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Tomorrow is laundry day, at last. With a heaping bag it is a welcome relief that has come only too soon, or too late, from the washing of apparel in the sink. I will organize the bag(s) for later and fill out the required forms. I am, of course, looking forward to the replenishment of my wardrobe.
Heather writes, “I am so glad that it is tomorrow because after Margarita Island I have some serious laundry. I have been trying to hand wash some of the heap that has piled up in the last few days, but it is very limiting with how many items you can fit on the line. We washed two pairs of shorts, which was the maximum capacity for the line and it took almost two days to dry. Hopefully everything will go well and we will have clean clothes in no time.”
As the sea is still relatively rough, I am so focused on my tasks that little seem to bother me. I am still studying for the Global Studies exam in two days. It is uncanny, but the time is cruising and I am finding out that the period between ports is consumed with classes, meals, endless studying and journaling, so much so that no sooner have we left Venezuela, than we are ready to arrive in Brazil.
At Sea
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Classes started up again today, as does the beginning of drop/add. We each purchased the novel we are reading for Travelers’ Journals and are fully caught up, which of course means that we are ahead in our schoolwork.
Megan writes, “Today is drop/add day and there are no openings for the other class I wanted to sign up for. My wanting to enroll in another class is like a double-edged sword. I am perfectly content with the amount of work I have, reading and study time still seem a little stretched. I would have loved to have one more class though to transfer back to my home campus.”
The drop/add period is not going well and it does not seem like we are going to be able to add our fifth course. I am slightly disappointed, though it is no difficulty to take the course next semester at Maryland and still finish in two semesters. It feels very strange not to be taking an art history course, but I am enjoying the two anthropology courses very much and can’t wait to have another Travelers’ Journals class tomorrow.
In global studies we finished discussing Venezuela and moved to Latin America. All of our classes are going well, with the exception that our afternoon class was missing one very important person – the professor.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Heather and I purchased a ship calling card tonight and at seven o’clock called home for the first time. I thought I would cry when I heard Mom and Dad’s voices, but I was able to talk fine. Mom even thought the reception was so clear that we might have been sitting in the very next room. Things sound good there, but it is difficult to get a lot said in thirteen minutes. I felt so energized after talking to them and my spirits were back up to their peak. I will call them once a week, regardless of cost.
Heather writes, “We got through on the first call and found it hard to believe that we were not sitting in the next room because the connection was so clear. It was so good to hear their voices and the surprise in moms when she answered the phone; I think I almost cried to hear how happy her voice sounded. It was funny that their meal was almost the exact same thing as ours and both neither very good. We actually got a little more than thirteen minutes from the card and were finished saying our goodbyes when it hung up. It left me happy the rest of the night and we were in bed at eight o’clock.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
The sea was rough and I walked in a wavy line all day. One of the questions I am supposed to answer is, “Do I let the steward make my bed everyday?” and the answer is no I do not. I make my bed everyday after waking up at six, it’s just a routine, and it adds a little structure to the day, which is always packed with new and unexpected things. I have noticed that the bed has been tucked a little tighter than I am capable of doing on a couple of occasions and think perhaps that is due to the fact that the linens were changed entirely, but I like to keep the room neat because I enjoy it so much and looking out the window.
September 8, 2005
At Sea
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
I am quickly finding out that there is less to say while you are at sea, for obvious reasons. Nevertheless it still feels good to jot down some thoughts.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
It is amazing how much I missed this ship during my stay in Venezuela. It felt so good to return to the Explorer and walk into the garden lounge for mealtime to the greetings from the dining room staff. There are so many very nice people on the ship and they enjoy trying to tell the difference between us. We met one of the history professors today and another member of the staff who had heard about us, and it was fun to chat for a while. Perhaps at some point in this voyage I won’t have to answer twin questions anymore but for now the attention is great.
Megan writes, “This morning an adult passenger stopped Heather and I on our way to breakfast. “The twins!” he exclaimed. “I heard about you.” Apparently a majority of people knows there are twins on board and he was wholly pleased to have finally met us. Our RD came to our table while we were eating lunch and said hello. It sounds as if he knew about our online weblog and will be checking it out. So hey, Mike, how are you?”
On our way back to our cabin from breakfast Dean Beverly stopped us and asked to take a picture. She is a very bubbly, cheerful person, and though we have not talked much up to this point I look forward to chatting more. She wanted to send our picture to her mom, who is also a twin, but unfortunately her camera battery was dead, and so we promised to run into each other again.
The noon report announced that we have traveled seven hundred fifty three miles from port and have two thousand fifty miles to the closest shoreline, Suriname. The seas are calm with swells less than one foot. Tonight marks the first of many clock changes and we have been instructed to set our clocks ahead one hour, so technically goodbye hour, it is gone.
Megan writes, “We have to set our clocks ahead one hour before bed, and I will have to remember before calling home next time to take this into consideration. I am anxious for dinner and curious as to the menu. Until then I will read and study for the Global Studies exam the day before we reach Brazil.”
We had a second great class in Travelers’ Journals sharing our stories from Venezuela and taking fifteen minutes near the end to write. We had to turn them in, but I was hesitant because I loved what I wrote so much that I wanted to include it in my journal. I will have to add it later.
Here is an exercise we worked on in Travelers’ Journals that I might use in some revised version for my first story:
I spent my time on Coche wondering what these people were like and how they live, and I can’t imagine a more poignant moment than standing atop the conch mounds overlooking the Caribbean sea, the cornflower blue of the clear sky melting into the liquid blue of the harbor. “This is their trash heap,” I thought, shells discarded from the oyster farm after extracting their worth. I climbed, huffing and puffing, right over left, over right to the tallest mound in sight, white barnacled shells crunching under foot. Then gingerly I stepped, almost fell into the nearest valley of empty shells whiter than white in the harsh afternoon sun of the tropics. I did not take a shell back to the rusty truck bed that carried me here, dust spiraling from the wheels, just the memory of shell mountains overlooking the sea. Our young guide placed a battered shell in my white palm, bumpy and hard, porous and rough. I turned it over slowly, peeking into the shiny encrusted center folded around a tiny iridescent lump, a pearl, still small, stunted by growth. It’s not my pearl, almost blue, but rather black instead, and not my shell. This is how they live, fishing and pearls. The mounds are their life, though it may be just a garbage dump to them. This priceless memento is perhaps the most symbolic of the people and this place.
The entire afternoon was free to read our novels on deck and study for our global studies exam in a couple of days. We have sailed past Guyana, Suriname, and French Guiana on our way to Brazil.
We finished off the day by reading in our cabin before setting the clock forward one hour, thus making bedtime nine o’clock.
September 9, 2005
At Sea
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
I wake up each morning around six o’clock and find myself turning on the television to channel two. The red line on the screen pinpoints our current path. It is nice to be able to see where we have been, as well as where we are going.
After breakfast I checked my email and weblog. Mom and Dad had left a comment on our newest posting and it is like receiving a present for no other reason but just because.
Heather writes, “Tomorrow we pass the equator, but we are not celebrating Neptune’s Day. Apparently the Deans are on very friendly terms with King Neptune and decided to move the festivities to September twentieth due in part to the upcoming exam in Global Studies on the twelfth. Thus we will still be pollywogs, I think.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
The sea has been quite rough today, probably the worst in terms of swells, which were about five feet. You can see white tufts of foamy spray bouncing off the ship from the window in our cabin. I still have felt no seasickness, and the tiny rainbows created from the spray are dazzling, tiny arcs lasting mere seconds.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
In Field Methods we made a list of events that changed your life, or altered something about you, in which no one else was aware. Then a lengthy poem was read that we listened attentively to, especially the lyrical and expressive language. At its conclusion the class made a list of twenty words that we could remember. Referring back to our list of events we choose one and write about it using as many of the twenty words as possible. Here is my attempt on the exercise in which I detail my first time competitively swimming the five hundred freestyle:
The clear, shrill pitch of the whistle echoes off blue-gray walls. The sound is brief before silence, a hiatus in the cheers and murmur of friends, and then the splash into silver, opaque water that sets a fire in the flutter of feet and strokes of arm over arm over arm. The swimmer dives with a turn at the wall descending, streamline, composed. The number “one” etched translucent on her brain as she counts to herself. Like a seal giving chase to the alarming jaws of a shark in the silver light of the moon, only it is the flash of a camera or a glitter of light that is visible from her submerged face. The coverlet of water, translucent, swells around her torso, arms, legs. The counter reads 3, 5, 7…15, 17. A rush down the length of the pool, dark abyss below, victory one more lap to go. The rusty wet hinge of the lap counter screeches, bends unwillingly to reveal a sequin of red patches. She inhales, knowledge of the end mere inches away. Like a cod trapped, the netting secure and unyielding, she is out of breath, kick, stroke, kick, kick, into the wall.
Exercise two consisted of expressing a moment in Venezuela utilizing the same words, so here is the fruit from that labor:
One the island of Coche, the rusty anchorage of the catamaran, Yemaya, drops into the undulating swells of opaque saltwater. The coverlet of whitecaps and rolling breakers glitters translucent in the blue-gray depths. Dark roots of dune vegetation weave up and down, in and out, sequins of leaves woven like the tight netting of a bodice over the cinnamon sand. A clear, dirt path leads away from the briny beds of oysters to the conch mounds. There a young boy hands me a shell dimpled and cratered from barnacles, but its clandestine secret is revealed in the glow of the orb of fire, the sun. Iridescent protrusions, creamy abalone, pearls interrupted from sleep.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
I feel like I have neglected talking about the food on the ship and so I will jot down a brief overview. For breakfast I typically enjoy a bowl of cereal with skim milk, they also have whole, and on occasion low fat. The cereal selection varies each day, with about three choices; some include Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Special K, Rice Krispies, Cheerios, and Raisin Bran. There is also a selection of fruit ranging from pineapple, peaches, and pears, to grapes, apples, and oranges, though of late a large round green, citrus like fruit has made an appearance, which I hear is rather gross. Of course there is also eggs, pancakes, toast, bacon, sausage, and pastries, but I really enjoy having my bowl of cereal, fruit, and cinnamon raisin bread with butter and strawberry jelly. Of course, I can’t pass up sausage when it comes around.
Lunch is basically like dinner with a salad and vegetables, rice, and meat. Sometimes, like the other day there are means to make a sandwich or you might find grilled cheese with ham, which was fantastic. I have heard many students complain about the peanut butter, but it is always available, as is the jelly, and it does make a good sandwich. Today I had a peanut butter and jelly, though I am not sure whether it is grape or strawberry, and a bowl of minestrone. Although if you have a jelly preference, they have small packs at breakfast and you could always snag a few for later.
Dinner is just like lunch, a full meal, sometimes better than others. Typically if the lunch selection is better, the dinner is not, and vice versa, though there is always something to enjoy and satiate your appetite. There are only two selections of salad dressing at a time, usually Blue Cheese and Raspberry Vinaigrette make an appearance together, as do French and Creamy Italian, though there is also Ranch, and Italian, and I have as yet to see any Caesar, which is my favorite. Oh well! I have actually been using a lot of the Raspberry Vinaigrette. The vegetables are cooked very nicely and are not overdone like some school dining halls like to do, and the rolls at dinner are fabulous and fresh. I have not tried any dessert yet, but next time it is something that I would enjoy, I plan to indulge just once for the sake of documentation.
After dinner we returned to our cabin to find the second set of confirmed field programs, and at least something has gone right so far. Including pre-sale trips and the recent confirmation, we have been lucky enough to have received all our the trips we have chosen including the Nature Tour in South Africa, Wasini and Kisite Island Dhow after our safari and hot air balloon adventures in Kenya, the Cambodia: Temples of Angkor in Vietnam, and the Beijing/Xi’an trip. It is such a relief to know that I will be able to participate in all of the field programs that I so desperately wanted to experience.
September 10, 2005
A Rough Day At Sea
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Last night was very interesting because of the marked increase in the wave height, which inadvertently affects the pitching of the ship. I cannot wait until the noon report to find out the exact height, but calm seas is definitely not in the forecast today. I would not be exaggerating to say that our window has been completely covered by the salty spray, as bulging swells of water bolt across the backdrop of blue seas and white cloudy skies.
We have our first Global Studies exam in two days, and the only thing I have to do is study, study, study. I have been keeping up with all of my schoolwork and have managed to finish all of my readings up until our arrival in South Africa, which gives me plenty of time to read for Travelers’ Journals, though I am already halfway through the book and loving it, journal, and focus on my first paper which is due in about two weeks.
Megan writes, “Global Studies was possibly my favorite lecture thus far as it concerned the Candomble religion. Most orishas mentioned and its relationship with Yoruba roots draws me back to my studies with African art. I watched Heather glance occasionally at my notes for correct spellings of names. I am even more excited to witness these connections firsthand in two more days.”
I know this is only the beginning of rough seas to come, but thus far I still feel absolutely fine and dandy. I have actually had a couple of people tell me that I look too cheerful for the waves outside. I guess that many students are starting to feel the effects. From inside our cabin, you can hear all types of squeaking and squealing, bumps and bangs, as things topple over and the ship adjusts to each oncoming wave.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
This is perhaps the most severe day at sea since our departure in Nassau. Waves breaching against the hull of the ship explode off the side like fireworks, their foamy spray mixing with flecked prismatic confetti caught in the sunbeams that glide across the water. Up and down goes the ship, up and down, and still up and down again. Enormous breakers burst into the air and fly across our window on deck four. You anticipate the sizeable collisions with the moment of intensity and increased illumination that flees into the cabin. Never have I seen such waves. And yet, I am fine, minus the additional swaying and some stumbling on stairs I can admit to having experienced. I am quite surprised, and thankful, that this has not effected me in the least physically. However, several students are apparently feeling the oceans newfound passion with the wind.
Heather writes, “If this had been a luxury cruise and I had not been so prepared for the seasickness with every remedy known to man I can definitely see how I would probably be worshipping the porcelain god right now. I am great, and happy, and I actually don’t mind the swinging and swaying of the ship. It feels so good looking at the position report on the television and seeing that we have crossed the equator and only have two more days until Brazil. On another note, it was quite strange to have classes on a Saturday, and I had to keep reminding myself that it was the weekend and not Friday.”
It is amazing to think that our total distance since Venezuela is one thousand six hundred and six nautical miles. At an average speed of 17.4 knots, there are one thousand one hundred and ninety one nautical miles until we reach our next port. We will cross the equator today around 1700, but owing to our Global Studies exam in two days King Neptune has agreed to wait and make his appearance September 20, 2005, in what is sure to be a grand party for all soon to be ex-pollywogs.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We are actually crossing the equator today around seventeen hundred, looks like king Neptune gave us some rougher seas than expected – long swells, cloudy skies, and a wave height of six and a half feet. All is not calm across the deck. At one point this afternoon a resonating sound echoed off the ship to the swell of waves crashing against our windows on the fourth deck. I turned around so fast my right side went numb.
Megan writes, “As I study in my cabin, the creaking and popping of hinges creates an unwelcome concerto with the detonation of thundering waves beating against the ship.”
In honor of crossing the equator we had a barbeque on the pool deck for dinner. It was fantastic, and I had a hot dog. As with most cruise ships, the dessert was not so great, but the pool bar was selling jumbo chocolate chip cookies, and well I had a weak moment. We were just saying earlier how we wanted a chocolate chip cookie. It did the trick.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Tomorrow is laundry day, at last. With a heaping bag it is a welcome relief that has come only too soon, or too late, from the washing of apparel in the sink. I will organize the bag(s) for later and fill out the required forms. I am, of course, looking forward to the replenishment of my wardrobe.
Heather writes, “I am so glad that it is tomorrow because after Margarita Island I have some serious laundry. I have been trying to hand wash some of the heap that has piled up in the last few days, but it is very limiting with how many items you can fit on the line. We washed two pairs of shorts, which was the maximum capacity for the line and it took almost two days to dry. Hopefully everything will go well and we will have clean clothes in no time.”
As the sea is still relatively rough, I am so focused on my tasks that little seem to bother me. I am still studying for the Global Studies exam in two days. It is uncanny, but the time is cruising and I am finding out that the period between ports is consumed with classes, meals, endless studying and journaling, so much so that no sooner have we left Venezuela, than we are ready to arrive in Brazil.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Venezuela
September 3, 2005
Venezuela
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
This morning we arrived in Venezuela to the sights of a commercial shipping port in La Guaira. After being cleared by the customs officials around eight thirty we attended a diplomatic briefing, reminding us one last time of the dangers and safety tips before we disembarked the ship. It was a nice sunny day and I remember seeing the lights of La Guaira this morning when I awoke at six, the land looming ever closer.
Megan writes, “This was our first stop, La Guaira, Venezuela. It is as foreign to this computer’s spell check as it is to me. La Guaira.”
At nine thirty Megan and I took our first step into our first port of call, heading from the port terminal to the three tour buses outside awaiting students on the Grand Introduction to Caracas. The terminal was small, dirty, and not much to see, but the buses were air conditioned and comfortable enough in terms of cleanliness. It was a forty-five minute drive from La Guaira to Caracas, winding along the highway, under overpasses and through tunnels, past the airport, up, up, and up to the city three thousand feet above sea level. The weather in Caracas was pleasant; a nice breeze making my blue jeans a welcome in what I thought might be stifling heat. Caracas was dirty, depressing, and the only way I can describe it is worse than any other city I have ever been to. I have never seen so many buildings in disrepair, sure to topple at the first breeze. It made me think of Grenada after hurricane Ivan, and I would have to say that Caracas is much worse. The windows, even on the top floors of apartment complexes are barred with curved metal, hung with laundry. Most are not air-conditioned and many have satellite dishes attached to the sides of buildings, though these do not work; they are only for show.
Before we stepped on the buses this morning Megan and I noticed a familiar face from January at the terminal awaiting the students – our tour guide from Margarita Island. We asked him if he remembered us. He said it was impossible that we had him as a tour guide, but we knew that there was no way it could not have been him. Later when he arrived with another of the student tours to lunch he came over to chat. We told him we had come to Margarita Island on a cruise, and that he had taken us to the Dunes Resort and that we were not sure when we were suppose to be back to the Empress of the Seas because the captain had extended port time. He smiled and said, “Then, it is just possible that you are right,” and of course we were.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Wearing long pants and a t-shirt, I was relieved it did not seem overly hot and sticky. At the Pantheon I was reassured in my choice of apparel. They do not permit visitors in shorts to enter. The Pantheon had a very open feel, flags bowing upon the floor in their mounts like courtesans. A statue of Bolivar announced itself at the opposite end. It felt like a palace and I was making a request from the king. An appeal for what though? Perhaps to understand the way of life in Venezuela, the reduced conditions, the lack of reserve medical supplies, the barrios on the hill. Simon Bolivar was buried at the Pantheon, a monument for his people. Other notables were there including three women, a writer, a musician, and a heroine.
Heather writes, “In a way you could compare the Pantheon to Westminster Abbey in London.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
The ranchitos line the hills around the city like popcorn, and are perhaps what we would call slums. Many do not have roofs, electricity, and water, but the land is free and so they build their homes near the city. It is amazing that these people live in one room in such poor conditions. They are of such abundance and so high in the mountains that I wonder how they got there.
The city surprised me. It is a maze of filth, peeling paint, poor roads, and lack of sanitation. I don’t know what I expected, but not this. Granted, the city does have some nicer parts, Las Mercedes and such, but the majority of the city lives in deplorable conditions.
Perhaps the highlight of the tour was Mount Avila. Standing at the bottom as I waited for a cable car I remember looking at the utmost visible point thinking that that was where I would be standing after the twelve-minute ascent. I was wrong. The cable car fit eight people and gave us an incredible view of the city; a view improved much by distance. As we reached the point visible from the ground, I looked up and as far as the eye could see, cable cars, ascending even higher, seven thousand feet. Indeed only pictures can do this justice. It was cooler at the top with a spectacular view of the ocean and the city, the buildings a wash of terracotta, blue, green, and yellow, but surprisingly touristy with shops, vendors, and stands selling traditional Venezuelan food, but nothing of interest. Megan and I did not have the chance to change any money over to Bolivares because the tour left immediately after being cleared, though fortunately we did not need any of the foreign currency. I was very glad of my backpack, today being the first time I have used it, and it provides so much security. I guess I owe dad on this one since he found them for us.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We left the Pantheon for higher ground. Taking the Avila lift I was transported up 7,000 feet or more to the top of Mt. Avila. The wind was descent, the clouds so low or I so high I could nearly touch them. If they were any closer they would be physical entities, real, corporeal and concrete. A part of me wishes they were. They hovered about the peak as I traversed the path. Twenty minutes later the lift conveyed me back safely to the ground. The cables were thick and secure, and I saw dense foliage underneath me, verdant and dynamic. The plant life mimics the people I have met thus far. With so little rain, the plants manage to thrive.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Lunch was at a local restaurant in Caracas, and I seriously wondered whether I would be eating the granola bars and cracker packs I brought along, but surprising we ended up at a very nice restaurant called Rucio Moro. We had barely sat down to the table, large banquet tables were set for the massive influx of students on the tour, before an army of waiters brought plates of cheese, salad, arepas, yucca, fried yucca, and baked plantains to the table. Of course, we all sat there asking each other if the water was safe, and whether we could drink it, but the restaurant served the water right before the table from bottles. Everything was delicious, especially the cheese and white corn cakes. I tried the yucca, which tasted like a potato, and enjoyed the fried yucca the most as it reminded everyone of French fries. They served us very tender, juicy beef, and kept putting more slices on our plates when we finished a slice. I think Semester at Sea went all out on this one.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Lastly we went to Quinto Anauco, a colonial manor house frequented by Simon Bolivar. The doors were high and it felt open, one with the outdoors. Each room was dark as the chandeliers were not on. The guide illuminated the rooms as we entered and dispelled the lights as we departed. It was like a brief glimpse into the houses previous glory. The guide did not want flash photography and several students did not observe such an easy request. It was frustrating.
Heather writes, “It was so frustrating when other students used the flash on their cameras after repeatedly being asked not too. It showed little respect for their history and I was embarrassed to be apart of the group. We saw a cacao tree with the pods attached and it is hard to believe that these small little beans produce chocolate.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
It was back to the ship at around six for dinner, and we packed for our five thirty flight to Margarita the following morning. I am so excited about returning to the beach and Margarita Island. We are going to bed at eight so that we are rested for the next three days.
September 4, 2005
Margarita Island
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
It has been a very long day full of tour buses, airports, the hot sun beating down on me, and cold showers. With a five thirty flight from La Guaira to Margarita Island I awoke at four o’clock this morning and reported to the Union for check-in, passport distribution, and boxed breakfasts. The airport was about fifteen minutes from the port and needless to say, with so many students there is usually a bump or two in the road. It took almost an hour and a half to check baggage, pick-up tickets, check passports, go through security, and board the flight, which was delayed because of ticketing issues from our group. It was a thirty-five minute flight to the island, and a very uncomfortable one at that. I do not like airplanes in the least and this one was very noisy, very smelly, and very dirty. We exited the plan through what I will call the butt right out onto the pavement outside and it was an interesting experience to say the least; one that I was glad to put behind me.
Megan writes, “We had to wait in the airport for what seemed like an eternity, they even delayed the flight for us because of several problems with tickets. I did not care for the plane, it was small, and the air was stale. It was only a thirty-five minute flight to paradise, but I had not really eaten so the vacant hollowness in my stomach was filled with nausea. I could not wait for it to end. The Margarita sunshine welcomed me as I exited what our group has termed the “butt” of the plane. It was noisy and the sound of the engines and equipment as we walked from outside on the runway to the terminal rendered it difficult to communicate.”
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
George took us to the bus and we were off to the Minor Basilica of Our Lady of the Valley.
Heather writes, “It was a very hot day and I was very uncomfortable. Our first stop was at a colonial town and the local church. Ironically, September first through eighth is the Festival of Our Lady of the Valley as hundreds of Venezuelans flock to the church to pay homage to this religious figure. The cobbled streets were packed with locals carrying flowers and idols, chanting and singing to the lady. The architecture was beautiful, very western colonial inspired and painted in the beautiful colors of the islands.”
We entered the church, appearing like the tourists that we were, and saw the Lady in a glass vitrine wearing a gown embroidered with small pearls and golden thread. Venezuelans sat in the pews intrigued by our presence. We toured another colonial house and the museum where all of the gifts to the Lady are kept. College students asking for the Lady’s help to graduate had given their class rings and there were bowls upon bowls of them and other jewelry.
We then departed for La Asuncion, one of the oldest churches in Latin America. It contrasted against the plaza dedicated to Bolivar and several shops, one of which we purchased postcards for two dollars.
Heather writes, “After a welcome return to the air-conditioned bus we made our way to La Asuncion where we stopped at a familiar sight from my previous travels to Margarita – Bolivar Square where the oldest church stands. We bought several postcards, an interesting endeavor in converting Bolivares for the first time since we paid in US dollars.”
We then continued to the fort where the heroine of Venezuela was held captive. The vista of carpeted green mountains bordered the fortification and the blustery wind seemed to whorl, coil and snake, making every picture of us resemble a Medusa-like hairstyle. In my blue jeans I was quite relieved for the change in temperature.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Finally we stopped at the botanical gardens where we explored the various flora and fauna of Margarita, mango trees drooping with fresh fruits, the largest anthills I have ever seen, and giant cactus plants used to make tequila. Throughout our walk through the gardens we navigated two labyrinths and drank some local beverages, one made from sugarcane which was very bitter, and the other made from sugarcane and lime juice which was significantly better than the first, but still very sweet. At the conclusion we ate cachapas, which were enormous, and baby bananas. Most of the students had never seen baby bananas before, but Megan and I were so hungry that we ate two, and enjoyed every bite.
Megan writes, “It was unbelievably hot and I rolled my pants up as I sat at the end eating some of the cachapas provided for lunch.”
Before we arrived at the hotel we made a quick stop at Samlin, the mall in Porlamar, where we were able to exchange our money for Bolivares. I worried that perhaps we did not change enough, or maybe we changed too much, but if worse comes to worse we can change it over in Brazil to the local currency. The mall was exactly what you would find in the United States, plus some designer stores.
Megan writes, “Inside the mall, where we spent an hour, Heather and I changed 20 dollars for Bolivares. Knowing we now had some local currency for the next three days made us feel more secure.”
It was a packed day and we were glad to arrive at the Hesperia, which is an all-inclusive hotel. It seemed nice at first, but perhaps I am too picky and find fault where others do not.
Megan writes, “We were placed in the third tower, room 1310. The building was hot and the sounds of voices and dripping water echoed through the concrete corridors.”
Most of the students were placed in bungalows and we were stuck out in a tower that was not too comfortable or favorable in terms of peace of mind. One thing we were able to do for the first time since we began this journey was watch CNN and find out what was going on at home. Rumors circulate like wildfire on the ship and we had heard some pretty interesting rumors regarding Katrina. It was devastating to watch from so far away, and we found out that one of the students flew home today to be with her family and will return before we depart Venezuela.
We went to lie by the pool around four and enjoy some sun time before dinner. Most of the group had already meandered out to the irregular shaped pool and tiki hut pool bar for food and of course drinks, namely because the Hesperia is all-inclusive which means as many free drinks as you want as long as you want. When we returned to our room we showered, which was cold and disappointing. I felt lonely and slightly depressed and will be glad to return to the ship. We went to bed at eight and tomorrow is the long awaited catamaran.
September 5, 2005
Coche
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
I woke up this morning excited and anxiously awaiting the catamaran to Coche, or as the Venezuelans say it, ka-ta-maran. I know I had a lot of expectations going into today, especially because I have had many catamaran experiences.
I had a horrible night sleep, partially because I was uncomfortable with our accommodations and partially because I bit my lip and it hurts very badly. Either I moisten my lips and it stings or I don’t and they are dry and chapped and it stings. Apparently the only thing I forgot was something suited to this scenario. The air conditioning in our room is very powerful, which is nice considering it is sweltering outside and I could probably cook a cachapa on the pavement. Hence, it is freezing and I woke up to turn it off only to wake up another two hours later to turn it back on and repeat this process through the course of the night.
We had a forty-five minute bus ride to Porlamar and the marina before boarding the Yemaya, our catamaran with bright rainbow swirls, dots, and petroglyphs painted on the sides. Yemaya, as Megan pointed out before the crew told us, is the Yoruba goddess of the sea. It was a very interesting walk to the Yemaya from the marina, crossing a small beach and walking across a dozen or so floating docks with loose, weathered gray boards swaying back and forth.
Megan writes, “Yemaya, I believe, and would be absolutely embarrassed to be remembering incorrectly, is the Yoruba goddess of water, or Loas. Anyway, she functions in some African based religion, vodun or Candomble or some other I am remiss in recalling. Regardless, the name seems entirely appropriate if correct as Yemaya watches those at sea.”
Soon after boarding we found ourselves seated near the nets drinking a deliciously sweet fruit juice and eating breakfast sandwiches with the same cheese they used for the cachapas yesterday. It was a relaxing, very hot sail to Coche lasting about two hours with a twenty-minute stop three quarters of the way there for a dip in the Caribbean Sea. The water was a beautiful shade of blue and the crystalline waters very welcoming from the sundeck aboard the catamaran.
Megan writes, “We sailed an hour in the smooth surf, Coche’s coastline visible in the distance and Venezuela’s mainland behind that. As promised we dropped anchor for a brief swim in the middle of nowhere. The water was cool and pleasant, the sun intense and stifling. Without goggles or other snorkel gear it was far more relaxing to just bobble up and down in the undulating surf.”
I could not even tell you how many times I reapplied sunscreen today, but the sun was very intense and between the two of us we used almost an entire bottle of SPF 30 and still have little pink noses and shoulders.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
I probably reapplied lotion, SPF 30, every half an hour. The bottle we packed is almost empty and we will have to purchase more. We arrived in Coche and were transported around the island in four trucks.
We went through the town where inhabitants sat on chairs and leaned on the frames of open doors, waving or at least gazing curiously at us as we passed and headed into the arid hills where cactus and desert plants grew in abundance. Near the abandoned salt mines and oyster ponds we went, bumping and shuddering over the baked earth, dry dust, warm and granular, dispersed into the air by the spinning of tires.
Heather writes, “Upon arriving at Coche the group climbed into the back of four covered trucks for a drive around the island. We were in the first truck with about seven other people and I was very thankful that Vera, one of the adult passengers was in our group. Vera is a fellow Terp and I enjoy talking with her. She speaks a fair amount of Spanish and translated what the young boy who was our tour guide told us about the island.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We drove through the capitol city of Coche, a single road with colorful houses lining the street, though very similar to the architecture of Margarita. All were one room with open porches and many with fences made from the cactus that grows throughout the island. It is very dry and arid on Coche, sand, cactus, and very little else. We saw the oyster farms where they harvest the pearls from large manmade saltwater lakes. Along the way we stopped at Elephant Rock, which looks like an elephant standing in the ocean, and it made me think of Nana, and continued on to the conch mounds. For as far as the eye could see white shells, mostly oyster, piled high like hills of crunchy white snow sprawled out over the land. We climbed to the top of one mound, overlooking the Caribbean Sea and had the most breathtaking view. I wish that mom and dad could have been there, it was so amazing, and definitely the highlight of the trip. I felt very much like a tourist though and forced myself not to take a shell. Many of the other participants loaded their pockets with the discarded remains, and I could only imagine what would happen if everybody took a handful as a memento. Luckily I was rewarded, upon boarding the truck our guide gave each of us a shiny oyster shell with a pearl still attached to the inside. The conch mounds are were they dump the shells from the oyster farm, as they cannot put them back in the ocean or it will ruin the ecosystem. I will never forget seeing the tiny pearl inside the shell and its significance to this island. Consequently, our tour guide picked these shells up at the conch mounds, as sometimes birds get to the oysters first and of course the pearl is still left inside.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We arrived at our last stop, the conch mounds. Thousands upon thousands of shells, piled like mountains. White and gray shells piled from the dirt path to the edge of the cliffs yards away. I walked everywhere, to the cliff and back, on the highest piles and into the lowest gully. Vendors were selling creations made from the shells, but no one purchased from them, many of the passengers took handfuls of the intricate treasures. They could have charged me for taking just the shells and I would have been happy. I did not take any even if this only happened to be a dump, a garbage can where the shells were forsaken after their organisms had been eaten by birds. Back on the truck I felt disheartened, everyone else had taken their own small heaps of the shells, mini conch mounds in their hands, why hadn’t I? The boy climbed back onto the end of the truck and handed Heather and I a shell. It was ugly, the outside coarse and potholed from barnacles. It was special though, hiding such beauty. The inside was pearly and lustrous, fleshy abalone that glittered in the rays of the sun. Small irritations projected outward, pearls still attached, not fully grown, underdeveloped and interrupted, never to be complete. At the end of the tour Heather and I gave the boy two thousand Bolivares, about one dollar.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We returned to the beach for some time in the sun and lay under the cabanas on the white sandy shore. Shortly after returning we waded out to the catamaran and climbed aboard for lunch. It is jellyfish season and the water is teaming with these clear gelatinous creatures. You move slowly, scanning the surface of the water before advancing and move quickly out of the path of these almost invisible creatures. Lunch consisted of chicken and beef kabobs, salad, bread, and cookies. It was very good and there was a running joke that we were not eating chicken but pelican instead. Some of the other students actually believed it. We returned to the beach; I don’t think I have ever had the chance to really enjoy a catamaran ride and beach so much as we spent almost the entire day on the island and not just a few hours. Many of the girls bought necklaces and cheap pearls, and it reminded me of how important the tourism industry is to the people of Margarita. Megan and I decided to take this opportunity to write on our postcards while sitting on the beach, I can’t think of a better place to write messages home.
As we were leaving the island, our tour guide from Coche came up to us and dropped two pink pearls in our hands. We have some really great memories, and instead of sand from Coche we have shells and pearls to remember this fabulous day. The return trip took one hour and I can honestly say I really wanted to be out of the sun. Returning to the hotel, we could have chosen to lie by the pool, but the last thing we wanted to do was increase our sun exposure for the day, and it was seriously time to let the sun soak. We ate dinner, went to the convenience store and bought two bottles of Australian Gold SPF 45 for thirty three thousand Bolivares, which is a little less than fifteen dollars.
Megan writes, “Going below the equator soon, we are sure this was the smartest thing to have spent any money on at all.”
The Internet was free in the lobby so we checked our email and had a very long message from mom and dad about their time in Nassau at the Atlantis. It made us cry and laugh at the same time and I am sure some of the people were wondering what we were reading. It was the best present I could have received and it makes me happy just thinking about it.
Megan writes, “Mom and Dad had sent an enormous email, which I have saved because it was truly the best medicine. Their stay at the Atlantis for the week sounded wonderful and I cannot wait to see all of their pictures.”
We were very tired and so found ourselves showering, again it was very cold because the hot water was not working and we called it a night around nine o’clock. We have received four one and a half liter bottles of water in our room and we are going to try to take at least two back with us to the ship. I don’t want to sleep and cannot wait to return to the MV Explorer. Our room has two king beds, and we took the sheets off one to put on the other so that we would not freeze tonight from the air-conditioning. Tomorrow we have the mangrove lagoons and the flight back to La Guaira. We leave the Hesperia at twelve forty five and have decided not to lie by the pool in the morning.
September 6, 2005
La Restinga
This morning we were given free time to enjoy the pool or beach at the Hesperia, but after yesterday I can’t imagine taking any more rays without serious damage. Any slight sign of red skin has faded to a nice brown and is perhaps one of the only mementos I will take with me from this island. We went in search of breakfast and upon finding nothing to our liking went to check the Internet again before our departure.
We ate lunch at the pool bar, a small pizza split between us and a coca-cola. I put my limited knowledge of Spanish to use this morning, relying more on my Italian language skills, and asked the guy at the pool bar for, “Dos pizza margaritas, and dos coca-colas.” A women tried to have a conversation with us, consisting of the word, “gemela” meaning twin, but our Spanish affirmatives to this only launched her into a full fledged conversation that we had to end abruptly with “No hablo espanol, hablo ingles.”
We checked out at noon and shortly after found ourselves back on the tour bus for a thirty-minute ride to La Restinga mangrove lagoon. I have never been to a mangrove lagoon and was entirely unsure of what to expect, water, marsh, plants, etc. Upon arrival we split into groups of five and climbed aboard small wooden boats with thick canvas tops to protect passengers from the intense sun. I wore my swimsuit under by shirt and shorts and I was very glad I did. It was absolutely beautiful with winding canals and passes under the thick foliage and shoots coming out of the water or arching below the surface. Our driver scooped a seahorse from the water into a jar and passed it around, followed shortly by a starfish which we each took turns holding. It was the size of my hand, in the deepest orange red imaginable with small bumps across its surface like Braille. What would it have read I wonder if it could communicate that way? The sky was a clear cornflower blue and provided the best backdrop for the deep greens and grays of the mangrove.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
The mangrove lagoon was amazing. In a small boat with Vera and Brianna, the trip leader, and another adult passenger, Heather and I saw the dense vegetation as well as sea horses and starfish. We got a little wet from the water splashing into the boat, but we had worn our suits underneath our clothes. Each winding waterway was marked with a sign for easy navigation and within what seemed like minutes we were hemmed in the confines of root systems and leaf canopies. After a half hour we were headed back towards the dock and onto the bus for our next stop.
Heather writes, “As we sped back to the docks water lapped over the side of the boat, drenching us in the saltiest water imaginable. This was the exact moment I felt so wonderful for wearing my swimsuit, as I was nearly dry by the time we returned to the bus.”
We arrived minutes later at the Marine Museum for a transitory glimpse at the aquarium and displays of shells. The museum was worthy of note however not entirely attention grabbing, plus it was still extremely hot. Our last sojourn was at a boat builders yard. George was apt to point out that the men working there had probably never seen so many beautiful women at one time. The yard was dirty, boats elevated above the ground for repair. For the few minutes we were there, the magnitude of tourism and industry was obvious. Fishing and tourism are the two industries that keep this small island functioning.
Heather writes, “Our last stop of the trip was to a local boat-building yard that smelled strongly of fish. All around we could hear the plunk of hammers and squawking of birds as the locals rushed out to see us.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Finally we returned to the airport, saying goodbye to George, and awaiting our six o’clock flight. Just before boarding we discovered a delay, supposedly a suspicious person had been on the previous flight and thus casing delays to check the plane top to bottom. Needless to say at this point we were calculating whether or not we would make it back for dinner and knew we would not. At long last we boarded an even smaller plane than our trip to Margarita and were on our way.
Megan and I were separated by several rows this time and so I closed my eyes and prayed for the flight to be over. My cushion was not attached to the seat and it made me wonder when the last time it was used as a flotation device might be. The flight was much worse than the first, and I put my Terp towel on the bottom of my chair to cushion my legs from the scratchy burlap feel of the dirty fabric.
We arrived back at the ship with little incident except for a long line of boarding students, bags being checked before boarding, and turned our passports back in to the Purser’s Office. We thought we had missed dinner by about thirty minutes but were greeted with the news that dinner was being held later because of the students with flights having missed the first. I had to weigh in my mind what was more important; shower, or food, and food won out by a very small margin. We did get our shower, warm again, and fell asleep to the swaying of the ship once more after doing some much needed laundry in the sink and some reading.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Overall, I had a marvelous time returning to Margarita Island. It is truly the first time I have really returned to an island and been able to spend numerous days discovering life in-depth. The scenery was picturesque, the weather, blistering, the people, amusing. As the first stop on Semester at Sea I could not have asked for a better way to begin immersing myself in other cultures. The atmosphere was simple and relaxed and it contributed to my general feeling of contentment and exhilaration. I am filled with anticipation for future ports and experiences.
It will be six days until we reach Brazil, six days of Global Studies, six days of being in my cozy cabin, six days of familiar faces at the dining room welcoming me for meals, six days of reading, six days of class work, and six days at sea, with the blue outside my window, so far tranquil and quiet.
Venezuela
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
This morning we arrived in Venezuela to the sights of a commercial shipping port in La Guaira. After being cleared by the customs officials around eight thirty we attended a diplomatic briefing, reminding us one last time of the dangers and safety tips before we disembarked the ship. It was a nice sunny day and I remember seeing the lights of La Guaira this morning when I awoke at six, the land looming ever closer.
Megan writes, “This was our first stop, La Guaira, Venezuela. It is as foreign to this computer’s spell check as it is to me. La Guaira.”
At nine thirty Megan and I took our first step into our first port of call, heading from the port terminal to the three tour buses outside awaiting students on the Grand Introduction to Caracas. The terminal was small, dirty, and not much to see, but the buses were air conditioned and comfortable enough in terms of cleanliness. It was a forty-five minute drive from La Guaira to Caracas, winding along the highway, under overpasses and through tunnels, past the airport, up, up, and up to the city three thousand feet above sea level. The weather in Caracas was pleasant; a nice breeze making my blue jeans a welcome in what I thought might be stifling heat. Caracas was dirty, depressing, and the only way I can describe it is worse than any other city I have ever been to. I have never seen so many buildings in disrepair, sure to topple at the first breeze. It made me think of Grenada after hurricane Ivan, and I would have to say that Caracas is much worse. The windows, even on the top floors of apartment complexes are barred with curved metal, hung with laundry. Most are not air-conditioned and many have satellite dishes attached to the sides of buildings, though these do not work; they are only for show.
Before we stepped on the buses this morning Megan and I noticed a familiar face from January at the terminal awaiting the students – our tour guide from Margarita Island. We asked him if he remembered us. He said it was impossible that we had him as a tour guide, but we knew that there was no way it could not have been him. Later when he arrived with another of the student tours to lunch he came over to chat. We told him we had come to Margarita Island on a cruise, and that he had taken us to the Dunes Resort and that we were not sure when we were suppose to be back to the Empress of the Seas because the captain had extended port time. He smiled and said, “Then, it is just possible that you are right,” and of course we were.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Wearing long pants and a t-shirt, I was relieved it did not seem overly hot and sticky. At the Pantheon I was reassured in my choice of apparel. They do not permit visitors in shorts to enter. The Pantheon had a very open feel, flags bowing upon the floor in their mounts like courtesans. A statue of Bolivar announced itself at the opposite end. It felt like a palace and I was making a request from the king. An appeal for what though? Perhaps to understand the way of life in Venezuela, the reduced conditions, the lack of reserve medical supplies, the barrios on the hill. Simon Bolivar was buried at the Pantheon, a monument for his people. Other notables were there including three women, a writer, a musician, and a heroine.
Heather writes, “In a way you could compare the Pantheon to Westminster Abbey in London.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
The ranchitos line the hills around the city like popcorn, and are perhaps what we would call slums. Many do not have roofs, electricity, and water, but the land is free and so they build their homes near the city. It is amazing that these people live in one room in such poor conditions. They are of such abundance and so high in the mountains that I wonder how they got there.
The city surprised me. It is a maze of filth, peeling paint, poor roads, and lack of sanitation. I don’t know what I expected, but not this. Granted, the city does have some nicer parts, Las Mercedes and such, but the majority of the city lives in deplorable conditions.
Perhaps the highlight of the tour was Mount Avila. Standing at the bottom as I waited for a cable car I remember looking at the utmost visible point thinking that that was where I would be standing after the twelve-minute ascent. I was wrong. The cable car fit eight people and gave us an incredible view of the city; a view improved much by distance. As we reached the point visible from the ground, I looked up and as far as the eye could see, cable cars, ascending even higher, seven thousand feet. Indeed only pictures can do this justice. It was cooler at the top with a spectacular view of the ocean and the city, the buildings a wash of terracotta, blue, green, and yellow, but surprisingly touristy with shops, vendors, and stands selling traditional Venezuelan food, but nothing of interest. Megan and I did not have the chance to change any money over to Bolivares because the tour left immediately after being cleared, though fortunately we did not need any of the foreign currency. I was very glad of my backpack, today being the first time I have used it, and it provides so much security. I guess I owe dad on this one since he found them for us.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We left the Pantheon for higher ground. Taking the Avila lift I was transported up 7,000 feet or more to the top of Mt. Avila. The wind was descent, the clouds so low or I so high I could nearly touch them. If they were any closer they would be physical entities, real, corporeal and concrete. A part of me wishes they were. They hovered about the peak as I traversed the path. Twenty minutes later the lift conveyed me back safely to the ground. The cables were thick and secure, and I saw dense foliage underneath me, verdant and dynamic. The plant life mimics the people I have met thus far. With so little rain, the plants manage to thrive.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Lunch was at a local restaurant in Caracas, and I seriously wondered whether I would be eating the granola bars and cracker packs I brought along, but surprising we ended up at a very nice restaurant called Rucio Moro. We had barely sat down to the table, large banquet tables were set for the massive influx of students on the tour, before an army of waiters brought plates of cheese, salad, arepas, yucca, fried yucca, and baked plantains to the table. Of course, we all sat there asking each other if the water was safe, and whether we could drink it, but the restaurant served the water right before the table from bottles. Everything was delicious, especially the cheese and white corn cakes. I tried the yucca, which tasted like a potato, and enjoyed the fried yucca the most as it reminded everyone of French fries. They served us very tender, juicy beef, and kept putting more slices on our plates when we finished a slice. I think Semester at Sea went all out on this one.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Lastly we went to Quinto Anauco, a colonial manor house frequented by Simon Bolivar. The doors were high and it felt open, one with the outdoors. Each room was dark as the chandeliers were not on. The guide illuminated the rooms as we entered and dispelled the lights as we departed. It was like a brief glimpse into the houses previous glory. The guide did not want flash photography and several students did not observe such an easy request. It was frustrating.
Heather writes, “It was so frustrating when other students used the flash on their cameras after repeatedly being asked not too. It showed little respect for their history and I was embarrassed to be apart of the group. We saw a cacao tree with the pods attached and it is hard to believe that these small little beans produce chocolate.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
It was back to the ship at around six for dinner, and we packed for our five thirty flight to Margarita the following morning. I am so excited about returning to the beach and Margarita Island. We are going to bed at eight so that we are rested for the next three days.
September 4, 2005
Margarita Island
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
It has been a very long day full of tour buses, airports, the hot sun beating down on me, and cold showers. With a five thirty flight from La Guaira to Margarita Island I awoke at four o’clock this morning and reported to the Union for check-in, passport distribution, and boxed breakfasts. The airport was about fifteen minutes from the port and needless to say, with so many students there is usually a bump or two in the road. It took almost an hour and a half to check baggage, pick-up tickets, check passports, go through security, and board the flight, which was delayed because of ticketing issues from our group. It was a thirty-five minute flight to the island, and a very uncomfortable one at that. I do not like airplanes in the least and this one was very noisy, very smelly, and very dirty. We exited the plan through what I will call the butt right out onto the pavement outside and it was an interesting experience to say the least; one that I was glad to put behind me.
Megan writes, “We had to wait in the airport for what seemed like an eternity, they even delayed the flight for us because of several problems with tickets. I did not care for the plane, it was small, and the air was stale. It was only a thirty-five minute flight to paradise, but I had not really eaten so the vacant hollowness in my stomach was filled with nausea. I could not wait for it to end. The Margarita sunshine welcomed me as I exited what our group has termed the “butt” of the plane. It was noisy and the sound of the engines and equipment as we walked from outside on the runway to the terminal rendered it difficult to communicate.”
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
George took us to the bus and we were off to the Minor Basilica of Our Lady of the Valley.
Heather writes, “It was a very hot day and I was very uncomfortable. Our first stop was at a colonial town and the local church. Ironically, September first through eighth is the Festival of Our Lady of the Valley as hundreds of Venezuelans flock to the church to pay homage to this religious figure. The cobbled streets were packed with locals carrying flowers and idols, chanting and singing to the lady. The architecture was beautiful, very western colonial inspired and painted in the beautiful colors of the islands.”
We entered the church, appearing like the tourists that we were, and saw the Lady in a glass vitrine wearing a gown embroidered with small pearls and golden thread. Venezuelans sat in the pews intrigued by our presence. We toured another colonial house and the museum where all of the gifts to the Lady are kept. College students asking for the Lady’s help to graduate had given their class rings and there were bowls upon bowls of them and other jewelry.
We then departed for La Asuncion, one of the oldest churches in Latin America. It contrasted against the plaza dedicated to Bolivar and several shops, one of which we purchased postcards for two dollars.
Heather writes, “After a welcome return to the air-conditioned bus we made our way to La Asuncion where we stopped at a familiar sight from my previous travels to Margarita – Bolivar Square where the oldest church stands. We bought several postcards, an interesting endeavor in converting Bolivares for the first time since we paid in US dollars.”
We then continued to the fort where the heroine of Venezuela was held captive. The vista of carpeted green mountains bordered the fortification and the blustery wind seemed to whorl, coil and snake, making every picture of us resemble a Medusa-like hairstyle. In my blue jeans I was quite relieved for the change in temperature.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Finally we stopped at the botanical gardens where we explored the various flora and fauna of Margarita, mango trees drooping with fresh fruits, the largest anthills I have ever seen, and giant cactus plants used to make tequila. Throughout our walk through the gardens we navigated two labyrinths and drank some local beverages, one made from sugarcane which was very bitter, and the other made from sugarcane and lime juice which was significantly better than the first, but still very sweet. At the conclusion we ate cachapas, which were enormous, and baby bananas. Most of the students had never seen baby bananas before, but Megan and I were so hungry that we ate two, and enjoyed every bite.
Megan writes, “It was unbelievably hot and I rolled my pants up as I sat at the end eating some of the cachapas provided for lunch.”
Before we arrived at the hotel we made a quick stop at Samlin, the mall in Porlamar, where we were able to exchange our money for Bolivares. I worried that perhaps we did not change enough, or maybe we changed too much, but if worse comes to worse we can change it over in Brazil to the local currency. The mall was exactly what you would find in the United States, plus some designer stores.
Megan writes, “Inside the mall, where we spent an hour, Heather and I changed 20 dollars for Bolivares. Knowing we now had some local currency for the next three days made us feel more secure.”
It was a packed day and we were glad to arrive at the Hesperia, which is an all-inclusive hotel. It seemed nice at first, but perhaps I am too picky and find fault where others do not.
Megan writes, “We were placed in the third tower, room 1310. The building was hot and the sounds of voices and dripping water echoed through the concrete corridors.”
Most of the students were placed in bungalows and we were stuck out in a tower that was not too comfortable or favorable in terms of peace of mind. One thing we were able to do for the first time since we began this journey was watch CNN and find out what was going on at home. Rumors circulate like wildfire on the ship and we had heard some pretty interesting rumors regarding Katrina. It was devastating to watch from so far away, and we found out that one of the students flew home today to be with her family and will return before we depart Venezuela.
We went to lie by the pool around four and enjoy some sun time before dinner. Most of the group had already meandered out to the irregular shaped pool and tiki hut pool bar for food and of course drinks, namely because the Hesperia is all-inclusive which means as many free drinks as you want as long as you want. When we returned to our room we showered, which was cold and disappointing. I felt lonely and slightly depressed and will be glad to return to the ship. We went to bed at eight and tomorrow is the long awaited catamaran.
September 5, 2005
Coche
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
I woke up this morning excited and anxiously awaiting the catamaran to Coche, or as the Venezuelans say it, ka-ta-maran. I know I had a lot of expectations going into today, especially because I have had many catamaran experiences.
I had a horrible night sleep, partially because I was uncomfortable with our accommodations and partially because I bit my lip and it hurts very badly. Either I moisten my lips and it stings or I don’t and they are dry and chapped and it stings. Apparently the only thing I forgot was something suited to this scenario. The air conditioning in our room is very powerful, which is nice considering it is sweltering outside and I could probably cook a cachapa on the pavement. Hence, it is freezing and I woke up to turn it off only to wake up another two hours later to turn it back on and repeat this process through the course of the night.
We had a forty-five minute bus ride to Porlamar and the marina before boarding the Yemaya, our catamaran with bright rainbow swirls, dots, and petroglyphs painted on the sides. Yemaya, as Megan pointed out before the crew told us, is the Yoruba goddess of the sea. It was a very interesting walk to the Yemaya from the marina, crossing a small beach and walking across a dozen or so floating docks with loose, weathered gray boards swaying back and forth.
Megan writes, “Yemaya, I believe, and would be absolutely embarrassed to be remembering incorrectly, is the Yoruba goddess of water, or Loas. Anyway, she functions in some African based religion, vodun or Candomble or some other I am remiss in recalling. Regardless, the name seems entirely appropriate if correct as Yemaya watches those at sea.”
Soon after boarding we found ourselves seated near the nets drinking a deliciously sweet fruit juice and eating breakfast sandwiches with the same cheese they used for the cachapas yesterday. It was a relaxing, very hot sail to Coche lasting about two hours with a twenty-minute stop three quarters of the way there for a dip in the Caribbean Sea. The water was a beautiful shade of blue and the crystalline waters very welcoming from the sundeck aboard the catamaran.
Megan writes, “We sailed an hour in the smooth surf, Coche’s coastline visible in the distance and Venezuela’s mainland behind that. As promised we dropped anchor for a brief swim in the middle of nowhere. The water was cool and pleasant, the sun intense and stifling. Without goggles or other snorkel gear it was far more relaxing to just bobble up and down in the undulating surf.”
I could not even tell you how many times I reapplied sunscreen today, but the sun was very intense and between the two of us we used almost an entire bottle of SPF 30 and still have little pink noses and shoulders.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
I probably reapplied lotion, SPF 30, every half an hour. The bottle we packed is almost empty and we will have to purchase more. We arrived in Coche and were transported around the island in four trucks.
We went through the town where inhabitants sat on chairs and leaned on the frames of open doors, waving or at least gazing curiously at us as we passed and headed into the arid hills where cactus and desert plants grew in abundance. Near the abandoned salt mines and oyster ponds we went, bumping and shuddering over the baked earth, dry dust, warm and granular, dispersed into the air by the spinning of tires.
Heather writes, “Upon arriving at Coche the group climbed into the back of four covered trucks for a drive around the island. We were in the first truck with about seven other people and I was very thankful that Vera, one of the adult passengers was in our group. Vera is a fellow Terp and I enjoy talking with her. She speaks a fair amount of Spanish and translated what the young boy who was our tour guide told us about the island.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We drove through the capitol city of Coche, a single road with colorful houses lining the street, though very similar to the architecture of Margarita. All were one room with open porches and many with fences made from the cactus that grows throughout the island. It is very dry and arid on Coche, sand, cactus, and very little else. We saw the oyster farms where they harvest the pearls from large manmade saltwater lakes. Along the way we stopped at Elephant Rock, which looks like an elephant standing in the ocean, and it made me think of Nana, and continued on to the conch mounds. For as far as the eye could see white shells, mostly oyster, piled high like hills of crunchy white snow sprawled out over the land. We climbed to the top of one mound, overlooking the Caribbean Sea and had the most breathtaking view. I wish that mom and dad could have been there, it was so amazing, and definitely the highlight of the trip. I felt very much like a tourist though and forced myself not to take a shell. Many of the other participants loaded their pockets with the discarded remains, and I could only imagine what would happen if everybody took a handful as a memento. Luckily I was rewarded, upon boarding the truck our guide gave each of us a shiny oyster shell with a pearl still attached to the inside. The conch mounds are were they dump the shells from the oyster farm, as they cannot put them back in the ocean or it will ruin the ecosystem. I will never forget seeing the tiny pearl inside the shell and its significance to this island. Consequently, our tour guide picked these shells up at the conch mounds, as sometimes birds get to the oysters first and of course the pearl is still left inside.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
We arrived at our last stop, the conch mounds. Thousands upon thousands of shells, piled like mountains. White and gray shells piled from the dirt path to the edge of the cliffs yards away. I walked everywhere, to the cliff and back, on the highest piles and into the lowest gully. Vendors were selling creations made from the shells, but no one purchased from them, many of the passengers took handfuls of the intricate treasures. They could have charged me for taking just the shells and I would have been happy. I did not take any even if this only happened to be a dump, a garbage can where the shells were forsaken after their organisms had been eaten by birds. Back on the truck I felt disheartened, everyone else had taken their own small heaps of the shells, mini conch mounds in their hands, why hadn’t I? The boy climbed back onto the end of the truck and handed Heather and I a shell. It was ugly, the outside coarse and potholed from barnacles. It was special though, hiding such beauty. The inside was pearly and lustrous, fleshy abalone that glittered in the rays of the sun. Small irritations projected outward, pearls still attached, not fully grown, underdeveloped and interrupted, never to be complete. At the end of the tour Heather and I gave the boy two thousand Bolivares, about one dollar.
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
We returned to the beach for some time in the sun and lay under the cabanas on the white sandy shore. Shortly after returning we waded out to the catamaran and climbed aboard for lunch. It is jellyfish season and the water is teaming with these clear gelatinous creatures. You move slowly, scanning the surface of the water before advancing and move quickly out of the path of these almost invisible creatures. Lunch consisted of chicken and beef kabobs, salad, bread, and cookies. It was very good and there was a running joke that we were not eating chicken but pelican instead. Some of the other students actually believed it. We returned to the beach; I don’t think I have ever had the chance to really enjoy a catamaran ride and beach so much as we spent almost the entire day on the island and not just a few hours. Many of the girls bought necklaces and cheap pearls, and it reminded me of how important the tourism industry is to the people of Margarita. Megan and I decided to take this opportunity to write on our postcards while sitting on the beach, I can’t think of a better place to write messages home.
As we were leaving the island, our tour guide from Coche came up to us and dropped two pink pearls in our hands. We have some really great memories, and instead of sand from Coche we have shells and pearls to remember this fabulous day. The return trip took one hour and I can honestly say I really wanted to be out of the sun. Returning to the hotel, we could have chosen to lie by the pool, but the last thing we wanted to do was increase our sun exposure for the day, and it was seriously time to let the sun soak. We ate dinner, went to the convenience store and bought two bottles of Australian Gold SPF 45 for thirty three thousand Bolivares, which is a little less than fifteen dollars.
Megan writes, “Going below the equator soon, we are sure this was the smartest thing to have spent any money on at all.”
The Internet was free in the lobby so we checked our email and had a very long message from mom and dad about their time in Nassau at the Atlantis. It made us cry and laugh at the same time and I am sure some of the people were wondering what we were reading. It was the best present I could have received and it makes me happy just thinking about it.
Megan writes, “Mom and Dad had sent an enormous email, which I have saved because it was truly the best medicine. Their stay at the Atlantis for the week sounded wonderful and I cannot wait to see all of their pictures.”
We were very tired and so found ourselves showering, again it was very cold because the hot water was not working and we called it a night around nine o’clock. We have received four one and a half liter bottles of water in our room and we are going to try to take at least two back with us to the ship. I don’t want to sleep and cannot wait to return to the MV Explorer. Our room has two king beds, and we took the sheets off one to put on the other so that we would not freeze tonight from the air-conditioning. Tomorrow we have the mangrove lagoons and the flight back to La Guaira. We leave the Hesperia at twelve forty five and have decided not to lie by the pool in the morning.
September 6, 2005
La Restinga
This morning we were given free time to enjoy the pool or beach at the Hesperia, but after yesterday I can’t imagine taking any more rays without serious damage. Any slight sign of red skin has faded to a nice brown and is perhaps one of the only mementos I will take with me from this island. We went in search of breakfast and upon finding nothing to our liking went to check the Internet again before our departure.
We ate lunch at the pool bar, a small pizza split between us and a coca-cola. I put my limited knowledge of Spanish to use this morning, relying more on my Italian language skills, and asked the guy at the pool bar for, “Dos pizza margaritas, and dos coca-colas.” A women tried to have a conversation with us, consisting of the word, “gemela” meaning twin, but our Spanish affirmatives to this only launched her into a full fledged conversation that we had to end abruptly with “No hablo espanol, hablo ingles.”
We checked out at noon and shortly after found ourselves back on the tour bus for a thirty-minute ride to La Restinga mangrove lagoon. I have never been to a mangrove lagoon and was entirely unsure of what to expect, water, marsh, plants, etc. Upon arrival we split into groups of five and climbed aboard small wooden boats with thick canvas tops to protect passengers from the intense sun. I wore my swimsuit under by shirt and shorts and I was very glad I did. It was absolutely beautiful with winding canals and passes under the thick foliage and shoots coming out of the water or arching below the surface. Our driver scooped a seahorse from the water into a jar and passed it around, followed shortly by a starfish which we each took turns holding. It was the size of my hand, in the deepest orange red imaginable with small bumps across its surface like Braille. What would it have read I wonder if it could communicate that way? The sky was a clear cornflower blue and provided the best backdrop for the deep greens and grays of the mangrove.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
The mangrove lagoon was amazing. In a small boat with Vera and Brianna, the trip leader, and another adult passenger, Heather and I saw the dense vegetation as well as sea horses and starfish. We got a little wet from the water splashing into the boat, but we had worn our suits underneath our clothes. Each winding waterway was marked with a sign for easy navigation and within what seemed like minutes we were hemmed in the confines of root systems and leaf canopies. After a half hour we were headed back towards the dock and onto the bus for our next stop.
Heather writes, “As we sped back to the docks water lapped over the side of the boat, drenching us in the saltiest water imaginable. This was the exact moment I felt so wonderful for wearing my swimsuit, as I was nearly dry by the time we returned to the bus.”
We arrived minutes later at the Marine Museum for a transitory glimpse at the aquarium and displays of shells. The museum was worthy of note however not entirely attention grabbing, plus it was still extremely hot. Our last sojourn was at a boat builders yard. George was apt to point out that the men working there had probably never seen so many beautiful women at one time. The yard was dirty, boats elevated above the ground for repair. For the few minutes we were there, the magnitude of tourism and industry was obvious. Fishing and tourism are the two industries that keep this small island functioning.
Heather writes, “Our last stop of the trip was to a local boat-building yard that smelled strongly of fish. All around we could hear the plunk of hammers and squawking of birds as the locals rushed out to see us.”
Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:
Finally we returned to the airport, saying goodbye to George, and awaiting our six o’clock flight. Just before boarding we discovered a delay, supposedly a suspicious person had been on the previous flight and thus casing delays to check the plane top to bottom. Needless to say at this point we were calculating whether or not we would make it back for dinner and knew we would not. At long last we boarded an even smaller plane than our trip to Margarita and were on our way.
Megan and I were separated by several rows this time and so I closed my eyes and prayed for the flight to be over. My cushion was not attached to the seat and it made me wonder when the last time it was used as a flotation device might be. The flight was much worse than the first, and I put my Terp towel on the bottom of my chair to cushion my legs from the scratchy burlap feel of the dirty fabric.
We arrived back at the ship with little incident except for a long line of boarding students, bags being checked before boarding, and turned our passports back in to the Purser’s Office. We thought we had missed dinner by about thirty minutes but were greeted with the news that dinner was being held later because of the students with flights having missed the first. I had to weigh in my mind what was more important; shower, or food, and food won out by a very small margin. We did get our shower, warm again, and fell asleep to the swaying of the ship once more after doing some much needed laundry in the sink and some reading.
Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:
Overall, I had a marvelous time returning to Margarita Island. It is truly the first time I have really returned to an island and been able to spend numerous days discovering life in-depth. The scenery was picturesque, the weather, blistering, the people, amusing. As the first stop on Semester at Sea I could not have asked for a better way to begin immersing myself in other cultures. The atmosphere was simple and relaxed and it contributed to my general feeling of contentment and exhilaration. I am filled with anticipation for future ports and experiences.
It will be six days until we reach Brazil, six days of Global Studies, six days of being in my cozy cabin, six days of familiar faces at the dining room welcoming me for meals, six days of reading, six days of class work, and six days at sea, with the blue outside my window, so far tranquil and quiet.
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