Barbados

Dear Williamson family,

When I think of Thanksgiving, I think of sitting around Aunt Karen's dining room table, catching up after a busy year over carrot ginger soup, turkey, stuffing, corn casserole, vegetables, and delicious desserts. I thought about sharing the traumatizing story of the Thanksgiving where I painstakingly slaved away in the kitchen attempting (and failing) to make the celebrated corn casserole, only to soon discover my Aunt Karen had left "eggs" out of the recipe she'd sent me. But I won't go into that story. It's still too soon.

I missed you all on Thanksgiving! It wasn't quite the same on the ship. In fact, we had class on Thanksgiving - it was a typical day at sea. However, I did have the chance to partake in something really special in Barbados, which is what I consider to be my true Thanksgiving this year.

I am thankful to have met my friend Akilah on Semester at Sea this fall. There aren't words to describe Akilah properly - spunky, maybe, but that doesn't cut it. Her parents and siblings live in Boston, but the rest of her family is from Barbados, and thus she is still very connected to the island. As hungry college students, our first question for Akilah was: 1). Are you going to visit your grandmother in Barbados? and 2). What time should we show up for dinner?

She did not disappoint. Not only did her grandmother invite us over for a meal, but the Armstrong family got together in what was a family reunion of sorts on behalf of Akilah's arrival, allowing us to join as honorary Armstrong's for the day.

The event was held in an open air establishment called "Doorless" Bar, and from our seats we could see aunts, uncles, and cousins emerging from cars with foil-covered trays of food. Each family member had made their own specialty dish, and they all greeted the six of us, Akilah's friends, warmly and enthusiastically as they carried heavy trays of food to the buffet table. Akilah greeted young cousins she'd never even met before and aunts and uncles she'd hadn't seen for years. We watched with a kind of voyeurism reserved for those who are truly homesick, but in truth we were genuinely, sincerely happy to see Akilah so happy.

I'm not ashamed to admit it - I led the buffet line. I dug into fresh rice, spicy curry, macaroni pie, Bajan lasagna, fried fish, shepherd's pie, cole slaw, potato salad, and - to my great surprise and pleasure - corn casserole. This truly was going to be Thanksgiving. We were with friends, our adopted family, and overloaded plates of good home-cooked food.

The best item on my plate was, hands down, the lasagna. It didn't taste like traditional lasagna - it was much sweeter, and saucier, and even had corn in it. Let me just say (with my greatest efforts not to sound pretentious, because that's not how I ever mean to be) I've been to Italy. I've had lasagna in Italy now, thanks to Semester at Sea. This was better.

After this spectacular lunch, the men began a loud, heated game of dominos that somewhat reminded me of games of bid whist back home, except terrifyingly more intense and intimidating. At the kid table (I didn't think I'd ever have to say those words again) the six SAS kids, along with Akilah's younger cousins, played a few rounds of Jenga, the game with stacked blocks. The kids were incredibly sweet, curious, and funny. We eventually began our own game of dominos, but the 7 and 11 year olds beat us so badly that us college students soon admitted defeat. I'd tell you the scores, but I think I'd rather save myself the embarrassment. Apparently an extra 10 years of life means nothing where dominos are concerned. I'll be practicing, though, Armstrong family - next time you see me, I'll be a pro.

I feel lucky to have been an Armstrong for the day. Even though I'd just met them that day, I felt like I'd just had Thanksgiving with family I'd known my whole life. Thank you, Akilah, for allowing me to be a part of that special moment.

I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving, Williamson and Perkins families! I am thankful for all of you.

In case you are wondering, there are KFCs all over Barbados, as well as a local chain called Chefette. I went with local chicken this time, and it was great - everything fried chicken should be. 

Happy Thanksgiving! Next stop Cuba.


Love,


Nicole
 

Brazil

Dear blog readers,

I know, I know, it's been a month or so. I can tell what you're thinking: I've become one of those lazy blog writers who abandons her blog mid-journey. I have given up on you.
That's not the case. After leaving Barcelona, we spent two weeks braving the Atlantic to travel to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. After 7 wonderful, warm days in Brazil, we again boarded the ship for a 7 day sail to Barbados. So here I am 4 weeks later, finally writing to you - I apologize for the break.

There is so much to say about Brazil. I loved everything about it - the music, the colors, the food, and the people - so many different shades of people. Space is limited, however. So instead, I'll tell you about the two times in Brazil I appealed to a higher power. As an aspiring politician, it makes me cringe to talk about my religious beliefs. I've always been told it's one of two topics (politics and religion) that are not part of polite conversation. Yet I find myself needing to tell this story.

On the third day in Rio de Janeiro, some friends and I took a trip to see Christ the Redeemer. The statue is iconic - the large, grey statue of Jesus Christ sits atop a tall, lush green mountain, overlooking the city of Rio and the ocean beyond. To get to the base of the statue, you can complete a two to three hour uphill hike through the rainforest, or you can take a van or convenient tram through the trees right up to the entrance to the site. You can guess which option I chose.

As the open air train (you guessed it) climbs swiftly up the mountain, you begin to realize you're in the clouds. The mountain is actually so tall that you can look down on the clouds below hanging over the city of Rio. Unfortunately in our case, we chose the only rainy, cloudy day of the 7 days to visit the site. Instead of powderpuff clouds hovering over a strikingly blue ocean, we were climbing up into thick, humid fog. 

The train stops and you climb 300 or so steps to get to the base of the statue. Then you're there - it's you, Christ, and 360 degree views of rainforest and city and ocean. In our case, the view lasted a good ten minutes. Then it was endless views of cloud, cloud, and more cloud - followed by torrential downpours.

At the base of the statue, Semester at Sea's psychologist Melissa asked me to take a photo of her with Christ. I bent down low to get them both in the frame, then snapped five to ten rapid pictures of her and the statue, which in its grayness almost blended in with the clouds. I returned her phone to her, and wandered away.

A minute later Melissa came up to me, phone in hand.
"Do you see this picture?" she asked me. I looked at it. It was one of the ones I just took.
"What about it?" I shrugged.
"Look at this bird in the corner!" she exclaimed. 

In the picture was Melissa, standing in front of Christ. On the left side, over the statue's right shoulder was the perfect silhouette of a bird, perhaps a raven, in flight. Against the grayness of it all, it was striking. It was mysterious. It seemed impossible. I taken the picture myself. No bird had ever flown past. I had taken the pictures on an iPhone in rapid succession, yet none of the other pictures showed any evidence of a bird flying past. It was eerie.

At this stage in my life, I wouldn't describe religion as central to who I am. I'm in my 20s, and I'm content to use this time (my youth) to explore, and to think about what religion means to me. As a natural skeptic, I wanted to believe this picture was a fluke. Honestly, I'm sure this happens to tourists all the time. At the base of Christ the Redeemer, they somehow see God. It sounds like the caption of a vacationer's Facebook photo: "Saw God at Christ the Redeemer this morning!"

I was scared, though. Melissa was scared. We looked at each other, and didn't know what to do. Melissa was convinced it was her late grandmother, speaking to her from afar. I was convinced it was God, telling me to believe. I didn't want to look at the picture anymore.

I'm not telling you to believe it, or to judge me, or to explain it. I do believe it was some kind of tourist miracle that happens to maybe ten out of a hundred tourists, kind of like those people who see Jesus on a piece of toast or an ear of corn. But I want to share it because it impacted me, and I can't get it out of my head.

Now, on to the second time a higher power played games with me in Brazil.

We took a flight from Rio de Janeiro to Salvador, Brazil, where the ship repositioned during our 7 days. The plane was filled with many Semester at Sea kids, who, instead of staying on the ship for the two days while it went from Rio to Salvador, chose to take a two hour flight to maximize on time in-country. It was an average sized plane - I was in row 38, and there were three seats on each side.

The first indication that I should have been worried was the subpar takeoff. Imagine the plane swerving down the runway - I don't know, maybe the pilot saw a squirrel or something, and took a sharp left - and zigzagged down the entire length of the runway. The liftoff was abrupt, as if the pilot forgot he was supposed to be taking off and at the last minute pulled the lever or whatever. This was strike 1.

After a decent twenty minutes or so of flying at cruising altitude, the turbulence began. It felt like driving a beat up car over a never-ending series of speed bumps. Do me a favor: if your sitting down, sway back and forth in your seat a little bit, slowly. That's what it feels like to endure choppy seas on a big ship. Now, pretend someone has grabbed your arms and is shaking you like a rag doll. That's what this flight felt like. This is not a motion sickness I was prepared for. The flight attendant handed me my complimentary cup of lukewarm water, and before I could even bring it to my mouth it had spilled over all three seats. 

We passengers smiled nervously to each other, but eventually it got so bad we slumped in our seats for what I can only assume was individual prayer. I know that's what I was doing. I said my final mental goodbyes, hoped they'd ship my body back to the States, and implored whatever higher power is up there to just give me one last chance. The captain, finally, came on the intercom to say that "it might get bumpy up ahead" (wait - was that last 20 minutes of torture not bumpy?) and that's how I knew I was a goner.

*Spoiler alert*: I lived. He slammed the plane down in sunny Salvador, and we went on with our days. But whoever's up there in the sky had fun that day, I can tell you that.

Brazil was wonderful. Sugarloaf Mountain is beautiful, Brazilian barbecue is to die for, and sugar cane vodka is not your friend. 

I can't wait to share some photos when I return.

Much Love,

Nicole

 

Barcelona, Spain

Dear Colleen,

As the the theory goes, the longer you have to do something, the more you will procrastinate doing it. So, knowing that I had a leisurely 14 days at sea to write about Barcelona, it took me ten of them to finally get around to doing it. Alas, at long last, my letter from Barcelona.

I think its important for every traveler to experience at least one place on their own - totally solo. Barcelona was my solo port. I wasn't sure how to describe my time there at first, since I didn't hit any of the tourist spots that make Barcelona such a rich and exciting place to visit. Instead, I spent my days there wandering the streets, hoping for the mysteries of the city to unlock before my eyes, and for opportunity to spring up organically - I kind of relied on fate.

Fate had my back, so to speak. I did have a good time taking in the city from street-level. I spent a whole day walking through a neighborhood on the far side of the city, trying to enter as many shops as I could. I met an Indian man who invited me to his restaurant down the street, and discovered the difficulties of reading an Indian-language-to-Spanish-language menu. I spent an hour in the only black beauty salon I've seen in Europe, mostly because it felt like home but also because I bonded with the owner, who told me more about life in Spain from a minority standpoint. I also treated myself to a traditional Spanish meal of seafood Paella with a sweet and crisp glass of sangria. Perhaps my favorite encounter, however, was meeting two incredibly sweet men in a nightclub off La Rambla working to improve understanding of the transgender community.

Finally, I continued my super scientific analysis of KFC chicken strips world-wide (what started as a casual craving for fried foods in earlier ports has become a tradition I'm reluctant to abandon) and I have to say it - Spain, you could do better. Chicken quality? Poor. Crispiness? Lacking.

I want to take a minute to talk about the difference between a tourist and a traveler, which has been a big theme throughout the voyage and an idea I've embraced in the majority of ports I've visited. So - what's the difference?

A tourist is a person who focuses more on checking items off a list than seeing the place itself (for example, visiting Pisa only to see the leaning tower; or, a person who sees the Eiffel Tower and thinks, "okay, I've seen Paris now.") A tourist snaps a picture without bothering to really see what's in the viewfinder. A person who takes pictures of people without asking for permission, and who doesn't bother to stop and say a word to the subject of her new photograph. A tourist passes through.

A traveler immerses herself, no matter how long she is there for, in the local culture. She chats with people on the street, in cafés, in bars, maybe even talking to one person for hours. A traveler is engaged, active, curious. A traveler questions her stereotypes and beliefs, and substitutes past prejudices with newly made memories. A traveler leaves each place changed. A tourist is merely a visitor.

To be honest, in Barcelona I would say I was neither. I was there, but I didn't fully connect with the city. However, there are places where I would absolutely say I took in that place with all my heart and soul. Belgium, Poland, France - those are places I saw.
I'm sure there are much better descriptions of what I've just said, because it's a popular notion. I encourage travelers present and future to embrace it.

The more I make plans for my return to WashU, the more excited I am to see you, Colleen! I'm excited that we're taking a class together in the spring (I've said it publicly so it's gotta happen now). Thanks for your update emails - you always keep me in the loop. I can't wait to hear about all the new experiences you've taken on this semester at wustl.


Much luv,


Nicole