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
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
No comments:
Post a Comment