Alcohol or Bust

MTV did a season-long special on Semester at Sea a couple years ago. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard. It sounds like, from that program, it received the reputation of what one might call a “booze cruise”.

I signed up with this Semester at Sea program to take more interesting elective classes than the ones offered at Florida Tech, and of course, to travel the world. Others, it seems, have let their mommies and daddies pay to ship them away on a cruise for 4 months of the year, just so they can have the time of their lives. Time spent getting drunk, that is.

Cliques have been forming for a couple weeks now on the ship, and it seems like the most predominant one is the “popular crowd”. I kind of thought that role had vanished when we graduated high school. But these kids are from California, New Jersey, the boonies. They’ve either grown up around nightclubs, expensive jewelry, and mansions, or dirt roads and wide open corn fields. Either way, drinking was the main pastime.

The ship has for sale alcohol vouchers, $3.50 per drink, limit 2 for dinner and 3 on “pub night”. I originally thought pub night would happen once, if that, between each port. From what I read in the Voyager’s Handbook, I believe it stated three or four times throughout the semester. If I’m counting correctly, they reached their limit tonight, and it’s only been 2 weeks.

Before we ported in Brazil there was a pub night I was unaware of (then again, I never know when they are). One of the dean’s came up to me around 8:55 pm as I sat on the deck by the pool with my laptop, finishing up some homework. He handed me a paper that said no water bottles, bags, or personal belongings on the deck past 9 pm during pub night, along with some other information. I had to read it a couple times before I understood what was going on. They were kicking me and my laptop case off the deck, because they thought I was going to smuggle alcohol into my room. Sorry, I don’t even know what an alcohol voucher looks like.

I hear kids strategizing for the best way to get drunk. I guess their tolerance level is too high for three little cups of wine or three cans of beer to have an effect on them. “What if we save them all up and chug them as fast as we can?” Good idea. “We could all buy them and then take turns giving them all to one person to get drunk that night. Then the next pub night it can be someone else’s turn!” Getting warmer. “I have (something similar to vicodin?) medication we can mix with the alcohol so we will really feel it!” WINNER. I overheard another girl at lunch today- “I don’t understand why they don’t let us just drink what we want. They make more money anyways. They we could play drinking games and it wouldn’t be so lame.” I almost offered to throw her overboard. That would spice things up.

People are getting so desperate they are smuggling little bottles and big bottles on through security. In their underwear. I guess there is a panel in every room that opens with the help of a screwdriver, and this has become the stash-your-loot hole in the wall. One guy got suspiciously drunk on a non-pub night. They turned his room upside down, couldn’t find anything, and gave him 24 hours of docktime in Brazil, meaning he couldn’t get off when everyone else could. He missed his flight to Rio and paid more than his original alcohol purchase to reschedule his flight. Good thinker.

A friend of mine said her voyage was very different. People that drank were the outcasts on the ship. Long nights of uno, midnight soccer, and movies. Sounds good to me. I haven’t quite found people like me yet, ones who want to hang out the old fashioned way, without shameful stories to tell about “that one night”. I’ve found a few people who aren’t concerned with spending their money on booze, but they instead are obsessed with battling each other out for who can know more people, who can make more friends. I think they’ve ended up making more acquaintances who don’t actually remember their names. Whatever floats your boat. Or ship.
I’ll stay the same. Meet people as they come. Do my homework. I like quiet time anyways.  People packed “going out” clothes. I packed hiking clothes. And I’m happy with my decision. Because I know when I finally do make really good friends, they’ll stay really good friends. I have a lot of patience.

If I decide one day that I want to get fat, I’m going to do it by happily and constantly eating sweets. Confetti cake, brownies, chocolate pudding, ice cream. Alcohol requires special enzymes in your body that, when you drink, preoccupy their other duty of breaking down the fat from your dinner. The fat from your food gets shelved, or stored, until the alcohol has been processed. The definition of a beer gut.

I am happy here being me. I just hope that sometime along this voyage, I can meet someone else who is happy being like-me.

In other news, McCully Culkin is on our ship taking classes. And that's not a joke.

The Dangers of Being Athletic

Of course being on land and playing sports is dangerous enough. Concussions, broken bones, you name it, it happens.

Playing on a moving ship is a whole ‘nother ball game, no pun intended.

Tonight was the first night of intramural co-ed basketball. We won! I’m terrible. Basketball is hard. Dribbling, not slapping peoples arms when they shoot, no pulling their shirts or shoving them, none of the usual soccer strategies. I need something bigger to run back and forth on. And it’s even harder when you throw in added obstacles like a rolling boat, hurricane-force winds, and a half-dark court.

Sometimes you’re dribbling down the court and you just kind of fall into the wall. But so does everybody else. So it looks more like a college frat party than a basketball game. Sometimes you put the ball up for a shot against the wind and it falls 2 feet short. Sometimes you shoot with the wind’s assistance and it assists your ball right over the backboard and into the safety nets. Thank goodness for the safety nets. Like playing in a monkey cage at the zoo, but necessary.

There’s also the issue of running on the treadmill. Holding on the whole time. Same goes for using the elliptical. I fall over doing lunges. Widen my stance extra far for arm exercises. Position my body horizontal to the rocking of the ship for ab exercises. You learn the methods and strategies of working out on the MV Explorer and you go with it.

I was so looking forward to the blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean, getting away from the muddy Amazon River. But I know when the waves start rolling outside the waves of stomachs start rolling inside. Not for me, thank goodness. I’ll probably be able to read on car rides when I get back. Some of my classmates, though, are doped up on seasickness patches, wristbands, AND pills.

Your bed is your safe haven and only solution.

Brazilian Extras

As I folded my notepad last night after writing my paper and posting it to my blog, I noticed two things. First, there were so many little things I wanted to tell everyone that I didn’t get to write about. That’s what I’m doing now. Second, my notepad was covered in the yellowish hydrogen peroxide substance I touched after machete man cut open a tree for me. Authentic souvenir.

First, let me start by saying there are not enough descriptive words in the English language to label the men in Brazil. Creeper just doesn’t cut it. These men were lumpier than expected. Sweaty. Balding. And if not balding, sporting a mullet. They were either sleeping in a chair next to their stand of souvenirs, which included normal trinkets and then objects such as tricycle wheels and medical scissors, drinking giant vases of beer that included little spouts for easy pouring access (it was 10 am), or checking us out, which occurred most often. And when they checked us out, there was no such thing as sly. They followed you with their eyes, and their heads turned all the way around to watch you disappear. I now know what it’s like to be pregnant, because I carried my backpack on my front the entire time we walked the streets.

You know how, in the States, you see people come outside at gas stations and change the numbers on the giant price sign? Clear, plastic numbers that sometimes get put upside down on accident? Well, here they have gas signs. Except I saw a man washing it like you brush your teeth. He used a giant broom and a little bucket of water. Their signs better be clean if they’re going to charge the equivalent of $8 per gallon. It’s the least they can do.

I wanted to emphasize how wonderful it was to visit with a family in their home on our Amazon trekking day. There was the dad, Damien. The one who took us hiking through the jungle armed with a machete. Maria, the mom. Who prepared a wonderful meal while we explored. So much flavor in all the right ways. And the children. Two girls and a boy. Friendly and happy to have company. Adventurous and daring in the jungle. The boy walked around with no shoes, flipping like a ninja over logs. He told us, or rather Juan, our tour guide, translated that he used their pet monkey Nico as a toy. He would pick it up, swing it around by the tail, and launch it. No wonder Nico screamed whenever the boy came too close.

Damien whacked anything with his machete he could reach. But always for a purpose. Being the line leader, he was feeding me little pieces of I-don’t-know-what and rubbing plants all over my hands. One I ate and he told me I was protected from Malaria forever. I must’ve misunderstood him. The other girls in our group were squirming over the bugs and snakes and creepy crawlies in the forest. When they took the little canoes out from the houseboat after lunch (one person paddled and one baled out water with a plate), Damien began yelling “Anaconda! Anaconda!” as soon as they were our of safety’s reach. He was too funny, but the girls didn’t think so. Which made it all the funnier when he caught some catfish in a canoe he spontaneously pulled out of the bottom of the river and gave them to us to throw at our stressed out friends.

Our last stop in Brazil before boarding the ship was a store we called CVS. Maybe a long lost relative. They had everything you needed, but all we wanted was Brazilian chocolate. So many different kinds we couldn’t choose from because we couldn’t read the wrappers. It was a giant guessing game and free-for-all. Most people returned to the ship with a bag of goodies. I don’t know how much longer I can pace myself. It’s a mini battle in my mind. Save it? Enjoy it? I’m going to cave in soon.

Today was laundry day. In my sink. You should see the room now. Underwear are hanging from the ceiling to dry, because I ran out of corners on pictures frames, drawers, and lights. They also outline the window. It really adds a nice touch, makes things feel homier. Rene, our steward, is going to freak out tomorrow morning.

I set my alarm this morning for 6:30… pm. Missed running and paid the price. People are exercising like it’s New Years. The sun rises at 6:34 tomorrow morning, so hopefully I can find out how to work my alarm. I have to reset my clock every night because it ticks too fast, and it’s always three minutes ahead by the end of the day. Something fishy is going on.

Speaking of fish, have you noticed the fish on the bottom of my page? If you click in their tank, it feeds them! I thought it was appropriate.

Mother of the Gods

Sorry for the large delay in postings. The MV Explorer just pulled out of the port of Manaus and is now crusing down the Amazon toward the rumored terrible waters of the Atlantic. The poor spider in our porthole is clinging on for dear life. Jenn and I named it Fang, which is probably bad because when you name things you get attached to them. I'm not sure how much longer Fang can stay attached to our window. I'll keep you posted.

The following is a "3-4 page paper about Manaus" written for my travel writing class. Figured I would kill two rocks with one bird. (Just kidding). I hope my email will send the whole thing. Pace yourself.

According to my first expectations, Manaus would be a dirty little shack-filled town at the head of the Amazon River.  According to my limited Wikitravel research, Manaus would be a big and bustling city with bigger and better buildings and happy Brazilians dancing in the neatly paved streets.  And according to my own two eyes, skyscrapers with no windows and invasive plants lined the crackled roads we walked while passing creepy little Brazilian men.  How do you say “Take a picture, it will last longer” in Portuguese?

        The smell of humidity and boat exhaust pushed in the gangway doors as students and life long learners alike pushed out of the wooden frame and down the stairs, unknowingly smacking each other with backpacks and belongings in the process.  We were greeted by the usual beeping of the metal detector and swiping of ID cards.  And something else, not so usual. Slightly annoyed but proud men beating drums and too-happy dancers in traditional Brazilian attire both swayed to the melody of the country’s upbeat, native music, welcoming us to their country.  Camera flashes began to fly, and the first groups organized outside of safety and inside of a mixture of shady tour operators and military police.

        Soon we were walking up a shaky catwalk and over the Rio Negro, littered with trash, sea grass, and misplaced building walls.  More importantly, we were walking straight past the ATMs.  Good.  We boarded the bus for our tour, which, by 1:30 that afternoon when we caught sight of our out-of-place ship, I had renamed “The Good, the Bad, and the Uglier than Usual Tour.”

        The good. I’m not a picky person.  In reality, my mind usually turns bad situations into good ones, not that I’m saying this was a bad situation.  We started the tour with a trip through a fish market that no one could have imagined. The smell of Sea World struck even before we ducked into the warehouse. Fish. Fish on all sides. Fish with no heads, no skin, no means of identity. And men. Small, grimy men who used the same knife to clean their toenails as they did to prepare their catch.  We meandered down the congested alleys and the scent changed, along with the scenery, to vegetables, fruits, and other goods that don’t make girly girls squish their pretty faces into unpleasant expressions. Towers of bananas rose on either side like the gates to a hidden country. Colorful pupunha flowed over rusted wheelbarrows and more bananas were loaded off delivery trucks by the triple-dozens while workers argued in Portuguese about where they would be put if you already couldn’t see the ground.

        I can’t tell you how big the street was we crossed next, because I noticed that Brazil apparently has an “invent your own lane” policy. There were no lines, no marks of any kind on the road (except for squashed bananas), and crossing was the second most treacherous thing we did all day. Once on the bus, our tour guide gave his habitual speech about random facts of Manaus. “ Brazilians eat five to six times a day” (The solution to why they’re all chunkier than I pictured). “Water is more expensive than gas” (They pay by the liter). “To your left you can see the cemetery, and you’ll notice that people here are buried above ground.” (Ew).  As his microphone cut in and out, I caught an explanation for the ridiculous amount of construction. I had forgotten the World Cup would be hosted by Brazil in 2014.  Convenient that my visa doesn’t expire for 10 years.  As we continued a child played soccer with a balloon and perhaps an invisible friend, and the more sophisticated condos and hotels of Ponta Negra came and went.

The bad. Americans.  Have you ever heard an American complain about a foreigner coming to Disney World or the Statue of Liberty and not being able to speak English?  Turns out most US travelers’ mentalities don’t change.  It seems as though the idea of the melting pot faded out with long skirts and wearing your pants up to your belly button. So even if you’ve decided to go to Brazil for a study abroad, these people darn well better know how to “Habla Ingles” or there’s going to be an issue, a breaking point, and a snobby “Never mind”. In English of course.

The uglier than usual.  When our bus made a stop in a neighborhood comparable to the commercials of starving children in Africa, I was scared to even get off. Looking like total tourists with wide-brimmed hats and cargo pants, our group made it’s way down a steep dirt road and into the homes, families, and lives of the people who lived there. I felt embarrassed to be taking their pictures with my shiny digital camera as they stared or waved from their porch. It was like a visit to the zoo. Except it was free and heartbreaking.  Their homes had no windows or doors. Toothpaste and soap were set on a shelf next to a bike helmet and a can of oil. The children played in the road with no shoes, and we got back on the bus like it was no big deal. Just another day, almost time for lunch. As we left the tiny neighborhood behind in our dust, I wondered if they would get lunch that day too.

A night on the town for a tourist consists of massive street parties and dancing until the sweat can be rung out of your clothes. We stepped out of our taxi and onto a portion of road blocked to traffic. Natives stood unobtrusively around alcohol and snack stands, dressed in normal clothes and carrying a variety of instruments.  My friends and I awkwardly followed the actions of the seasoned locals, who, as humans and creatures of habit, seemed to have their usual spots located.  We had heard about this samba, but had no idea what to expect. And then all of a sudden we were being ushered to the front. The front of what though? I noticed dark, suntanned skin lining up according to instrument. Men, women, children, all shapes, all ages. And then they began to play. Like my high school drum line, but better, more intense. You couldn’t just hear the beat, you could feel it in your chest and ears. These people were rehearsed. Two beautiful dancers shook and shimmied in their hooker-esque heels. The air was electric, full of energy. Whatever we had come for, we weren’t expecting this. And as victims of the front row usually are, we were pulled up to dance, starting a trend, and attempted to move even half as gracefully as the mascots of this unexpected samba outbreak as more and more people flooded the street to join in.

We occupied our last four days in Manaus with last minute decisions and sore feet. Driven mostly by suggestions from anyone we could understand, we ventured back to the ritzy part of town on the 120 bus, where an aqua blue infinity pool welcomed us with tempting sunshine and bacon strips three times as thick as what you would get in the States. 

        The markets were like a game. Dirty, bustling and smelling like a mixture between fried Brazilian delicacies and mud, it was complicated. The language barrier was the rules, the obstacles were the creepy men and chance of being robbed, and the objective was to walk away with a one-of-a-kind prize that constituted victory. Here is where we used our elementary level Spanish knowledge to converse and barter as best we could, and here is where we turned bored shop owners into smiling contenders and participants of the game we now shared.  Whether their attitude changed back right after we walked away or faded slowly as they slept in their tiny, aerated homes that night, I just hope we gave them the impression that we, as Americans, are more willing to dance than they previously assumed.

        We spent the night talking a rather hefty “tour guide” into giving us a deal on a day trek through the Amazon, and that’s exactly what we got. Juan and his two monolingual teenage sidekicks corralled a 15-passenger group through the fish and fruit markets, where we first picked out our lunch, which a native Amazonian family would be cooking for us in their home. Too good to be true. I was the caboose of the scattered line, and was fed samples by the chattery Brazilian girls Juan had brought along. I was throwing into my mouth corn-looking pieces that weren’t corn and parts of plants I was warned by our dean may be covered in fertilizer.

        A tiny, leather-skinned man in an old tin boat greeted us at the dock and drove us an hour down the Amazon past spurts of grass and fins of pink dolphins. We rounded the bend to a tiny floating hut, more porch than shelter, where two tiny children, a mother, a parrot, and a dog carrying a monkey named Nico on it’s back greeted us with somber expressions. We proceeded to shore and were quickly rushed into the jungle with three more dogs and a wild man carrying a machete for the coolest jungle hike I had ever been on. We wandered a small rooted trail, and every once in a while Damien, the machete man, would wander off the trail, holding up his hand with a mixture of muttering and grunting, telling us to stay put. Out of his forest of tricks he pulled expandable palm branches used to ward off jaguars, tree bark used to heal both breast cancer and minor cuts, a twig that smelled of bengay, and a large log he hacked with one foul swoop of his obviously sharp and dangerous machete, which, when tipped like a rain stick, poured cool mineral water into (and out of) our mouths.

        We ended the afternoon with a feast prepared by the family. Colorful peppers, onions, and tomatoes lined a pot of chicken and piranha, while mounds of rice and noodles complimented the protein. We swam in the same water that the family used as their bathroom and trash. I figured since no one had recently used either, a quick dip would be just as good an idea as eating the fertilized herbs from the market.

        As we motored away from the rocking home and the Amazon, the sun set in a sherbet colored sky. It looked like Disney World. I guess Disney World looked like Brazil. Whatever the case, I felt fulfilled. An accomplishment, something to check off the bucket list. In the end, I can’t decide if my first impression of Manaus when walking through the gangway was higher or lower than my first expectations, but in the end, it was exactly what I wanted.

Lingo

I wouldn’t say being on a ship takes you out of your comfort zone. Maybe “raising your comfort level” is a better way to put it. (We cross the comfort zone line by stepping off the ship and into a country with no plans but to experience.)

The comfort level meter began to rise the second we got on the ship. “Proceed to the Union, located at the bow. Lunch ends at 1300 hours.” Say what?

My computer has been set for military time since I was stranded in the Atlanta airport for four hours my freshman year of college. Thank goodness I’m used to telling time like a sergeant now, or I’d be just as confused as my classmates.

Since being on board, we’ve all picked up the basics and been severely confused by the terminology for the elite on board. Something like the staff having a secret code. And although we’ve learned the following terms, they don’t mean anything to me while I’m inside the ship. Unless I am looking at the water or feel the rocking of the Union, I am directionally challenged, lost with no way to orient myself.

Port Side- the left hand side of the ship.

Starboard Side- the right hand side of the ship.

Aft (stern)- the back of the ship

Bow- the front of the ship. Where the Union is located, and the most exercise is gotten (people running from their seats to the bathroom, clutching their mouths or stomachs).

Military Time- a system set over a 24 hour span (not in 12-hour increments)

Stabilizers (anti-rolling tanks)- fluid filled (usually with water) tanks that are used to keep the ship steadier in rough seas. In my opinion, they don’t work.

Bank- elevated areas of sea floor. We’ve passed many cruising down the Amazon. They shift shapes frequently due to the speed of the current and amount of sediment deposited. There’s one at the mouth of the Amazon that is the size of Switzerland. Word is we cleared it by three feet.

Ship- what we are on. You get in trouble if you call it a “boat” or a “cruise”.

Bridge- where the captain is supposed to pilot the ship from. However, due to advancements in technology, I saw the captain’s entire staff up on the pool deck standing around the bar having drinks and sharing stories . Who’s driving the boat?

Gangway- where you get on or off the ship.

Decks- deck 1, deck 2, deck 3, etc… Not floors. Decks.

Knot- 1 knot = 1.15 mph

Code Blue- No one knows, but they’ve said it twice over the PA system, and it kinda freaks people out.

Porthole- a round window. What we have in our bedroom.

Pre-port- a very long, mandatory meeting they have the night before we get into port. It usually involves some very strange skits and musical arrangements, along with terrifying information about the diseases and problems you’ll encounter as soon as you set foot in their country. Stay positive?

We arrive in Manaus at 0800 hours tomorrow. I only have planned a city tour with my class and Samba lessons in the evening.  We’ll be here 5 days! All I know how to say in Portuguese is “Obrigado”, which means thank you. We’ll see how far that gets me.

Chocolate Milk

        Our boat was trucking through a good amount of rain this morning. And chocolate milk. Wait, what?

        We entered the Amazon River last night to an announcement from Captain Jeremy and his European accent: “Good evening passengers. We will be entering the mouth of the Ah-mazon around ten ther-Tee pm toniyght, and I wahnTed to let yew know, thaT due to inclemehnt conditions, we are prepahring for some rough seas. If yew’ll please check that ahll of yohr pehrsonal belongin’s ahr secuhrely stowed away, it will save everyone the stress of things shifting in the night and cawsing distuhrbances. At this time, we will also be activating the stabohlizahrs. Thahnk Yew.” (That’s the best I can do imitating an accent on Microsoft word)

        It took all of 30 seconds for hallway doors to start opening. My roommate had already resigned herself to a night of no sleep. She marched up to the 7th deck with the rest of my classmates to see……. Nothing. Nothing happened. At all. The water was calm as anything. When she returned at 1:30 am, disappointed in how worked up she had gotten, I laughed, turned over, and drifted back to sleep.

        This morning she told me that everyone stood outside waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for something, anything to happen. Very anti-climactic. Seems to be a good let down though. I wasn’t really looking forward to the “rolling” our captain had talked about as nonchalantly as if they were serving potatoes for dinner again. (We’ve seen some form of potatoes at literally EVERY meal. Not kidding.)

        And when I woke up this morning and stepped on the deck to run, I first noticed it was pouring and humid. Then I noticed that our ship was moving smoothly through what looked like chocolate milk. Okay, okay, so the Amazon is really just as muddy and dirty and brown as you see in the pictures. Maybe even worse. But it’s better to think of it as chocolate milk. We’ll just pretend the random bugs the ship has seemed to acquire since it’s not-so-gripping birth into the largest river in the world are chocolate chips. For decoration only.

Don't Go Chasing Rainbows, They Follow You Anyways

        I’ve never seen rainbows like I’ve seen them the past two weeks. They spontaneously shoot out of the ocean and disappear just as suddenly. I’ve never been so close to a pot of gold either. It was probably hidden 10 yards away under the surface of the sea. I didn’t have the chance to chase it, but I’m sure there will be another opportunity.

        I can’t say the colors are unlike anything I’ve seen before, but maybe unlike anything I’ve seen nature create in my 21 years. The brilliant Roy G. Biv shows through, each color individually, and my camera can barely capture it.

        It starts out faint, usually paired with a big brother looking out from just above. Then it grows in definition and severity. But that only takes a minute. It fades as we sail past the mist it was created in, and the angle is no longer prime.

        My roommate and I see them out our window all the time. I think I could count at least 10 in Dominica. The most memorable came in the form of a farewell, as we all boarded the ship hastily so as not to receive docktime in our next port of Manaus.  It bounded out of the ocean, 10 feet from our boat and 30 from shore. In the same habit as the others, it only stayed for a passing glance, but that was all we needed.

        If you ever get the chance to stare out a porthole or past the railing of a cruise ship for a substantial amount of time, do it. I think the sea is good to those who have patience and to those who wait.  An ocean rainbow is one thing everyone deserves to see in their lifetime, and I’ve been extra lucky to see enough for 20-some and counting.

"dome-in-EE-ka"

If you need to take this post in sections, I understand. It’s going to be a long one.

I was awoken Sunday morning around 6:45 by a brilliant sun shining through the window as it rose over the tiny island of Dominica.  After three days at sea, it was nice to touch land again, now feeling like my sea legs were giving me super balancing powers.
I met my group and walked 200 yards to a beautiful, white catamaran rocking in the gentle waves of the Caribbean. We were helped aboard by our guides, who immediately and expertly undocked and began their well-rehearsed schpeal. The only name that stuck with me when I left was the captain’s- Captain Jack Sparrow. No relation. They brought us to the deep waters of the island, past active volcanoes and black-sand beaches, where we were greeted by around 20 sperm whales over the course of the next two hours. The boat celebrated with a choice of rum and punch, passion fruit juice, or water, because this was “as good as it gets”, we were told by our guides.

As we made our way back, I chatted with some of the other kids on the boat and ended up making the best decision of the day. Nine other people, including myself, met up with our whale guide’s friend and spent the afternoon going wherever we requested he take us in an open-air, no doored bus that took a leap to get into. After randomly picking up a Rastafarian on the street corner who acted as our vocal guide for the afternoon, we snaked our way up the incredibly narrow two-laned streets of Dominica to our first stop, the Gorge.

Remember the scene in Pirates of the Caribbean 2 where they are held captive in those balls made of bones? They break lose and eventually fall into a small crevice, dropping into the water while arrows are shot by the natives. THAT is the Gorge. We took the 20 foot plunge into the small space between the rocks and swam upstream though the closing rock walls to a hidden, powerful waterfall. (I think I put up a picture of me about to jump and of me jumping down into the water. It looks closer than it appears, which is probably why it was so easy to jump!) A local showed us ways to climb the waterfall, and after swimming through the clear, clean water, I sat in the stream and talked to him about his life on the island.

After piling back into our monster truck, we hit up Trafalger Falls, a twin set of waterfalls based with hot springs nice enough to sit in for hours (but not more than 30 minutes, said our guide). We climbed the rocks and swam across the pool, directly under the waterfall, and up the side as far as we could. After struggling to get down (somehow the way up is always so much easier), we spider-crawled over to the hot springs, where we sat in water the color of khaki shorts with a native who had been coming to that spot his entire life. Our guides said what we were swimming in was mineral water, good for the skin and magical enough to make you feel 10 years younger. Oh to be 11 again. We finished our day driving back down the mountain, stopping at coffee and fruit trees and more hot springs that were too hot for skin.

This morning I woke up to a green sea turtle floating around outside our porthole, poking it’s head out of the water every so often to see what was going on. A large group of us piled into 3 tour vans and headed to champagne reef, so named for the champagne-like bubbles that floated up through the geothermal streams and cavities below. This is the same place where Captain Jack Sparrow was chased by cannibals to 2 peaks in the movie. He had to jump from one to another. After suiting up in our snorkel gear, we slide into the warm water and were peppered with raindrops as we swam among colorful fish, eels, sunken ship remains, needlefish, and barracuda. After an hour and a half, we made our way back to the shop, where we were given fresh passion fruit juice and loaded back into the buses.

My friend Ashley and I spent the afternoon wandering around Roseau (Roo-soh), visiting the markets and talking to natives. I sit here now, back on the ship about an hour away from the island. Seas are rough, and the pool water is now mostly on the deck because of it.
I learned in Dominica that everyone knows everyone. Literally. A honk here is much different from a honk in the states. They probably have to get their horns fixed as often as their brakes. Over usage can do that to a car. Dominica said farewell through some native music in the bars below, a full moon, a starry night, and a few tears from the sky.

Biggest regret: Not remembering in the end to pack an underwater camera.

Now on to Brazil!

Our Quiant Library Hideaway

I am currently sitting in a "free library" on the shore of Dominica. No windows or doors, only books and sea-green walls. The schoolchildren are walking through in their uniforms, staring at our screens while we skype. I think I'll get them involved. Anyways, we leave Dominica today, and I thought I would post some pictures thus far :)

Roller Coaster Class

I’d first like to apologize for the frantic, sloppy, and delayed writing of my previous post. It was a busy day so I dished everything out at once.

As we continue to travel, I recognize too many things that are somehow the same AND different at the same time. I like comparing life on a ship to life at school… or on land for that matter, and I carry a trusty notebook with me and will spend my days at sea writing about specific topics and observations I’ve made throughout our voyage.

Tonight I need to tell someone, anyone about the hypnotizing effect of sitting in a classroom on this ship. Have you heard of that show on TV now about winning a million dollars for doing an impossible task in under a minute? I’ve got a new suggestion for the producers.

Because the MV Explorer is so small, it consistently sways and moves with the rolling waves of the ocean. Students have now completed their first round of classes. My “A” days are nice, although apparently having 1 class also means I may get burned like a lobster because the top deck and my soul have a love connection I was only slightly aware about. My malaria medicine got jealous and made my skin a little extra sensitive, although the lack of Michigan sun may have also been in on it.

“B” days are another story.  All classes are 25 minutes longer than Florida Tech classes. That feature, mixed with the law of necessary boring-ness and fact that my stomach doesn’t care about the motion as much as my natural habit-from-birth to fall asleep when rocked put up a good fight when struggling to stay awake today. Woah baby. Today I spent 75 minutes thinking “There is NO WAY class is this boring! What is happening to me?!” It seems the only remedy is to take laps around the classroom while the professor is teaching. I’m not sure he’ll like that proposal, but maybe I’ll get the guts to ask in desperation one day.

We port in Dominica tomorrow. I have signed up for the whale and dolphin safari, because whales and dolphins are awesome (duh). From there we plan to snorkel, hike, and explore the island and it’s beautiful waterfalls, rainforests, and locals. I’m not sure how to spell it, but sounding it out, we were given common phrases they use on the island. “Saka fet” means “How are you doing?” and “Muela” means “good”. I guess if you’re have a crisis and someone asks you how you’re doing you better have good facial expressions, because “good” seems a little misleading.

Please please please feel free to comment and ask questions/give suggestions on things you’d like to hear about. I’m sure there are topics I’m not thinking of.

Until next time,
Kelli

Nassau, Bahamas and Setting Sail

Note: When I say "last night" it means 2 nights ago. Technical difficulties have deprived everyone of a post. Up and running now!

Last night when I tried to do this, it decided it took me so long they logged me off of my account! I lost everything (which was a lot) that I had written. So let’s try again. Round two!
I woke up Tuesday morning at the boardwalk hotel with my family. After our last breakfast at Disney together, we boarded the bus to the airport and sat together at my gate, where we played a guessing game of who on my flight would also be participating in Semester at Sea. I think we won.
When my plane landed in Nassau, I met my ship roommate, Jen, outside of immigration and we took a taxi to the hotel and ship (she got work study and got to check in early to help with registration the next morning). I met my hotel roommates in the lobby, along with many, many other SASers. From there we went to Senior Frogs for the night. I didn’t realize that when I ordered a “chicken burger” it would be an entire chicken. But I ate it all! And it was gooooood. We spent the night mingling, yelling over music, and people watching. It was fun. We made our way back to the hotel around 11:30, where my 4 hotel roommates and I took more of a nap than a sleep.
We woke up early the next morning, repacked, and took a taxi to the port. We waited an hour in check-in line, but had the entertainment of other cruiseliners passing by being harassed by clouds of taxi drivers to keep us occupied. They ran all of our bags through security when we passed through the metal detector. I have never seen so many confiscated straighteners, curling irons, or duct tape in my life (but who would confiscate those anywhere but here?)! We continued the registration process, had lunch, unpacked, went to meetings, and ate dinner. At dinner we met some really nice people and went up to the top deck with them, where we watched the MV Explorer leave Nassau at 8 pm. It would have been really cool to leave port during the day so we could see the gorgeous blue water and colorful buildings. Instead we got brightly lit cruiseships and a little city full of lights and sounds. Everyone cheered and took pictures as we pulled out from between two cruiselines with the hotel Atlantis in the background, and for that time everyone was friends. There were no cliques or negativity. It was really a sight to see.
It was back to more meetings and a “spring ahead” (1 hour) time change after that.
This morning Jen and I woke up for a sunrise run and breakfast before a full day of meetings. It was cloudy, but the warm air made up for it. I spent a while looking out of my porthole today. This ship moves SO FAST. The waves collide with the ship in big sprays and bursts. Every time I get the chance I’m keeping an eye out for whales and dolphins.
The morning was filled with meetings. It’s time for lunch now, and then meetings and meetings the rest of the day. Classes start tomorrow. Not a problem :)
Keep you Posted!
P.S. My confirmed email address is kgzabriskie@semesteratsea.net. EMAIL ME!

Disney World, FL- 3 Days and Counting

I feel so important having a blog.

I found a way that (i think...) I can update my blog through sending an email. This is a test.

We arrived in Orlando at about 1 am this morning. Airports all over the country are overloaded with delays, and our plane did not miss the trend. Dad was up and 'attem about 8. Apparently adults are functional on 6 hours of sleep. Puzzling. We had breakfast and made our way to the Wide World of Sports, where Dad and other marathon runners registered and looked through the expo booths set up with freebies and advertisements. We met some long-time friends that he will be running with and went to the ESPN zone for lunch. Tonight my favorite artist Wyland is "making an appearance" at his gallery here at Disney. It just so happens to be at our hotel. I know his wonderful artwork is expensive, but pictures of the back of his head are free, right?

Dad will be on a bus and on his way to the marathon at 3:30 am tomorrow morning. He has to be in his "corral" by 5 am, and the race starts at 6. He continues to joke about his trip to the hospital and that we'll be pushing him around in the wheelchair the rest of the vacation. All I know is if that's necessary, I nominate Aaron for the job. (Just kidding. No one is riding in a wheelchair. Dad's going to do great!) Other activities on the trip will include cheering on the Packers and a trip to the park.

My flight leaves for the Bahamas about 1 pm on Tuesday. Tip of the day: Fat chance your suitcases packed for 4 months will weigh less than 50 lbs. Give up now.

See you at sea!

Edit: Wyland! And the view of EPCOT fireworks from our hotel. What a lovely evening :)