Tag Archives: student travel

One adventure ends…and a new one begins. 100th post!

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Someone asked about my recently  unupdated blog and “how the story ends.” Well, as this blog represents my real life, I’m hoping the “story” doesn’t end in the immediate future. It would be a shame to die before my frontal lobe is even fully developed. I get the person’s point, though…I sort of left the story of my big trip around the world hanging in literary limbo. Poor connections in the Pacific, finals week, traversing the Panama Canal (which took 6 hours), and visiting Costa Rica and Honduras made blogging difficult.

I’m home. It feels funny to say that, because honestly I was beginning to forget what that felt like. My family has been enjoying the comedy of my shock when the waiter speaks English and my panic when I see someone drink out of the tap. But as funny/undignified/frenetic as I have seemed on the outside, let me assure you that internally my brain and heart are like a sea storm–with a naval battle going on in the sea storm–and sea monsters attacking the little ships…ok. I’ll stop.

I basically just had a massive life goal realized. Ever since I could first manage to lug the family atlas or leaf through the pages of a National Geographic, I’ve wanted to go around the world. All summer and semester I kept literally pinching myself to see if I was dreaming. But more time passed, and I realized I wasn’t dreaming. I was in a dream come true.

Now that my trip is wrapped up, you might expect that I would be hit by a huge let down. I understood it in the questions from people asking me about how I felt about going home. I mean, you are going back to KENTUCKY, right? Can that really compete with what you’ve experienced?

You better believe it can.

See, here’s what I’m realizing: Life is an adventure. Running in the jungles of Cambodia barefoot in the rain to catch an elephant ride before sunset is, and so is teaching your little sister how to drive. Getting lost in a Morroccan souk at 1 a.m. is, and so is going down to the basement that terrifies you to let out a dog who is barking excitedly at a dark window at 3 a.m.. Rappelling over a waterfall in Costa Rica is, and so is being the maid of honor in your sister’s wedding. My life has been made awesome by some of the adventures I’ve had this past semester–but it wouldn’t be complete without the daily ones I’ve had my whole life. The catch is that you have to let the things that happen in your life be an adventure. I was sad about saying goodbye to people at Semester at Sea, but not overwhelmed about ending such an awesome trip. Why? Because I know now you end one adventure before you start another. There’s no way I’m done with this life–this “story.”

Real life isn’t a cruise around the world. And I’m actually kind of glad it isn’t. Daily life can stink, but it’s the stuff dreams are made of. I don’t think this semester would have meant half as much to me if it weren’t for the decade I spent with pictures of all the places I saw pinned to my wall, inspirational quotes all around and endless scheming as to how to get there in my head. Now I’m back to daily adventure of dreaming where life will take me next.

One of the first things I did when I got back was clean off all of those old goals–goals that are now attained. It was an odd moment, sitting in a blank room that, for me, represented the blank slate of the future. Then in a flood, new things started going up. There are plenty of experiential and vocational goals, to be sure, but now I have some identity goals, too. Seeing the world made me want to change the sort of person I contribute to it rather than just the things I can get out of it. See, I’ve come to the conclusion that traveling can really be quite selfish. If you don’t do anything with what you’ve experienced–let it change you in some way, create something to share with others from it–it’s really meaningless.

If I forget about the malnourished children I saw in Ghana, the impoverished families I saw in the South African townships, the leprous beggars in India–then I’m an absolute fool. I’m missing my shot at making a positive impact on the world I just circumnavigated–of having a life that counts for more than a passport full of stamps. But I’m equally stupid if I fail to notice the unhappy people I’ve met on the ship and at home–people with broken families, people insecure despite absurdly spectacular giftings and talents and people scared of the future. People all over the world hurt. And if I can’t notice the ones closest to me, I have little chance of helping the ones half way across the globe.

I recommend travel. Of course. I’m a huge fan and advocate. But if the stars in the back roads of Nicholasville, KY don’t make you catch your breath, the ones over the Himalayas in Tibet probably won’t, either. If the kid hungrily eyeing treats in the check out line at Wal-Mart while his mom buys the necessities with food stamps doesn’t make you feel a little ashamed of your full buggy, the little cutie holding out his hand then motioning to his empty mouth in India probably won’t, either. My new challenge to myself is to open up my eyes and heart to the world around me. This terrifies me.

Why? Because if you are serious about engaging, you are going to get hurt–because opening your eyes means loving, and loving hurts. A lot. Loving in the way that I’m trying to learn to love–in the way that I’ve been loved–can be a painful affair. It’s the kind of love that I can’t wrap my head around. The love that made someone give a boatload of money so a kid they never met could go around the world for free–the love that made a perfect being suffer and die so that imperfect, selfish, ridiculous little Martha coud get a wonderful life and ticket to eternal life. Love gives to others for love’s sake, with no strings attached. It gives till it’s uncomfortable, sacrificial and lavish. It’s painful, but in the words of an oddly poetic song, “Love is worth everything we pay.” Without it, you may be safe, but you aren’t really free. I want to be like that.

So the big question: where to next, Martha?

Wherever love takes me. 

At Last! Angkor Wat

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I woke up with no way of knowing that the day would include running barefoot through the Cambodian jungle, a bloody unconscious man, impressive thunder and a rainbow, naked people in a pool and an elephant. This day was 22 hours long. We were greeted by the dean, who informed us that he had been “awakened at 3.am. by screaming, naked students cavorting in the hotel pool.” Brilliant. Needless to say, although none of the guilty parties were on our trip, we will be getting dock time for the slightest infraction.

We drove to Angkor Wat for the sunrise after getting our Angkor Wat photo passports. The sunrise was incredible in that awesome morning light over the stunning ruins. It was yet another one of those moments where you are just completely overwhelmed by seeing something you’ve dreamed of seeing for most of your life. Before I could read, I loved to look at National Geographic magazines, which I actually think are better if you can’t read. My young eyes had to interpret the pictures and attempt to understand what was going on in them. The mystery of the strange places I saw in the glossy photos embedded the desire to travel deep within me. Now my life is a little like a National Geographic—Angkor Wat was a cover photo day.

Bayon Temple, our first of the day, had huge head carvings, like something straight out of Indiana Jones. We walked across the elephant terrace to reboard sweltering Angkor Wat local buses. Next, was my personal favorite temple where they filmed Tomb Raider. It deserved an entire day. It has cool, huge roots coming out of the its ruins, taking them over. I wandered around on my own, exploring caved-in rooms and dead-end chambers. Do you remember that show Legends of the Hidden Temple where kids had to try to go through this crazy temple maze? Well it was just like that, with oppressive heat.

We needed an ATM visit for lunch. Interesting fact: ATMs in Cambodia only distribute U.S. dollars. I went to the grocery for bandages for my now ridiculously painful and awful-looking burned leg. It began to pour after lunch. The heavens opened up and just dumped on us. We were determined to continue our tour of Angkor while waiting for it to clear. From a high point, we saw gorgeous carvings on the main temple and walked to the super steep temple summit. The view from the top was worth it. We had to rush a little, though, because we had to be at our elephant ground “2 or 3 kilometers” away from the temple complex by 4:30.

It became clear as we tried to get down the steep temple steps crowded by balking Asian senior citizens rightly afraid of plunging to their deaths that we weren’t going to make it on time, so I took off my shoes and started to run in my new white dress through the mud, over uneven ancient stones, leaping across the rainy season puddles. We finally exited the ruins and ran along the road dotted with tuk tuks and motorcycles. That’s how a crazed American girl with an umbrella, bloodied leg, sweaty dress and cut feet ended up bolting around Angkor Wat under a rainbow. Yes. A rainbow over Angkor Wat. I’m seriously so lucky.

We got there in time to buy an elephant ride, which wound up being wobbly, rolling horribly from side to side. But, it was fun. We could see Angkor Wat below as we climbed through the jungle foliage. Our elephant driver had this awesome talent of putting a leaf in his mouth and playing a song with it somehow. We climbed more crazy-steep stairs to the top of the oldest temple in the area to watch the sunset. It was beautiful, and the clouds around were perfectly stunning. One cloud looked just like an elephant.

We walked down the muddy hill in the dark and haggled for a tuk tuk back to the ship. I love tuk tuks. I wish they had them in the U.S. As we sped along with a pleasant breeze—I kid you not—there was lightning over Angkor Wat. Could the day be any more perfect? I love lightning.

We picked back up with the organized group tour at the hotel in time for dinner, with five minutes to change—I was muddy, sweaty, bloody, 100 percent DEET-perfumed with a calf banged up from the wooden elephant saddle. We went to another super nice Vietnamese restaurant for dinner. After eating, the tour operator dropped us off at the night market where we loaded up on inexpensive trinkets. There were massage parlors everywhere and fish pedicures–a fish pedicure is where the fish eat the skin off of your feet. I wanted to try one, but a certain open wound on my leg made that seem ill-advised.

We went across the street to a dance place where an Egyptian guy came up and started talking about showing me around the pyramids. When we decided to leave, we came out on the street to find people gathered around a man face down, bleeding. Motorcycle accident. Good grief! We had to hurry to get back onboard in time.

Goodnight Vietnam.

In Which I Get the African Plague

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You are really twisted to want to read this post after that title. Glad to know there is such interest in my suffering. No matter, I’d probably be the same way with you. Maybe we have a sick interest in sickness. Here’s my true documentation of how I ended up with a rash all over my body, shaking on the bathroom floor, doubled over in paroxysms of pain on a rocking ship. Sounds fun, right?

This morning I slept through breakfast…unlike me, but not outrageous considering that I was up late last night on deck. I tried to work out but started feeling sick, something I attributed to my empty stomach. After some homework, I had lunch and went to an awkward English class and discussed an even more awkward book. Art class was canceled again because my prof is still mysteriously sick. Do you see where this is heading?

Laura came back from the clinic this morning and explained that she has strep but is lucky—about 30 other students are quarantined to empty cabins for some other sickness that’s going around. Interesting…did I clue in? Of course not. I did homework for most of the afternoon. After dinner, Laura and I dropped by to check on Jeff and Aria (I already have the reputation and nickname of “mom” amongst my set), who are among the room-bound, but on the mend. The were chipper and doing better, but I greeted them from the hallway and kept my distance. After another hour of homework, I opted to go workout before the highly-anticipated trivia night. I had been looking forward to trivia night all week. You don’t even understand how much I love trivia night. It’s like bar night for nerds like me. They play music and it’s the social event of the week.

The ship was rocking, and I almost fell twice, but I had an awesome run. Three miles in 27 minutes, which is quite a feat for me on an ever-moving treadmill. I went out to my favorite side deck that is always empty and stretched to try to cool down. A student I know from one of the trips came out and talked to me for a while and asked me if I was going to trivia night. YES! I went back to my room in a good mood listening to “I’ve Gotta Feeling” and literally dancing down the hall because I felt great. Yes. Oh from the heights…

I went back to my room and was talking to Laura about my great evening when my body started itching. Like all over Really bad. It was comical to me for some reason (I often laugh at odd moments). I hopped in the shower, and the itching only got worse. I looked in the mirror and realized that my body was completely covered in blotchy rashes. I suddenly felt very hot and the rashes seemed to be getting worse, too. I told myself to stop being a hypo and get myself together for trivia night.

That’s when the first cramp hit. Pretty soon my body was doubled over and I could hardly walk. I was afraid to leave the bathroom. Nothing really happened, but my stomach hurt soooo bad. I couldn’t sit up straight. Laura went to get the clinic’s phone number and came back with a sheet that basically said “Stomach Flu alert! Hey kids! Stomach flu going around. Come see us during the 2 hours we are open every day. If it’s not during that time, keep your germs to yourself and treat yourself! Oh, Cepro won’t help. Try some Tylenol or pepto bismol. We don’t know what it is. See yah!”

I hate the clinic.

Laura left again and I hit the bathroom with a pillow. For two hours. Again, nothing really happened…my stomach just hurt so bad. I managed to make it to the phone for long enough to learn that 1. The clinic 24 hour service doesn’t work. 2. Neither does the purser desk number. I was truly alone. Oh, did I mention the ship was rocking horribly?

On the way back from the phone, I grabbed my worthless bag of prescription drugs and began pawing through it. In a moment of brilliance, I grabbed Laura’s pepto and took about 3 minutes to read the directions. It took me another minute to get it from the box to my mouth. In another 30 minutes, I felt well enough to make it to my bed. I must have collapsed in exhaustion, because I woke up to Laura opening the door an hour later. I was in fetal position clutching my stuffed animal, Scamps. He’s seen me through a lot.

I felt so happy to be alive that I was almost giddy. The thing about making it through an experience that is pretty horrible is that you are so thankful for normalcy when it’s over—and shouldn’t we really be thankful for normalcy all the time? So many people don’t have it. Laura went out and got me a ginger ale. I sat up in bed giggling and giddy with the triumph of surviving the African plague and popping pepto, which tasted really good for some reason. One of my least favorite movies in the world, “Eat, Pray, Love” was on, but I watched it with relish and didn’t even care that my body was exhausted and I was horribly cold.

HAH! African plague. I win.

Bon Voyage

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Awesome picture of my summer reading by my sister, Sarah.

We say the words “bon voyage” all the time before traveling, but they mean a little more when you are flying into Paris.

Tomorrow I leave for the first part of my adventure! I’ll be seeing France, Germany, Austria, the Czech Republic and Italy in short order. I’ll hopefully be checking in from the same countries that Nellie Bly, the object of my research, visited. She packed in about a day for her famous journey around the world. I followed her example, packing for three weeks in about three hours.

4 sundresses, 3 pairs of shorts, one pair of pants and 4 shirts later, I’m sure I’ve forgotten something.

No matter. There are worse things than shopping in Europe.

I’ll miss home TERRIBLY, so please keep in touch. You should also subscribe to this blog, as it will be my primary means of communication.

Last time I was in Europe I was delayed by a volcano, forced to lose a man following me, caught a train by the skin of my teeth, rode  the subway at 2 a.m., got stuck on a party bus in the bar district, hiked through cow pastures to Mr. Darcy’s house, climbed trees in Sherwood Forest  and missed the last transport out of a town the size of a department store. That was a 10 day trip in an English speaking country. It’s sure to be an entertaining ride this time.

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no know”ing where you might be swept off to.” –J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring