Visit Ashley

Final Project in Rome

2011-07-12T05:22:00.000-07:00

Florence

2011-06-28T09:57:00.000-07:00

Unart: Everything but the kitchen sink

2011-06-22T01:26:00.000-07:00

Europride: Lady Gaga

2011-06-14T09:45:00.000-07:00

The Colosseum

2011-06-12T06:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I stepped into a place where men and women tested their skills in fights to the death, a place that once represented human blood but now stands as a sort of holy place where Good Friday services are held once a year as a Catholic remembrance. The Colosseum is an incredible structure not necessarily because of it's size or it's worn architecture, but because of the stories that have unfolded within its walls. Did you know that after the gladiator fights, the blood on the floor of the Colosseum would be mopped up and sold as medicine to treat epilepsy?

Walking away

2011-06-09T12:50:00.000-07:00

Through a guardrail

2011-06-09T12:41:00.000-07:00

Photographic Project 1

2011-06-08T02:01:00.001-07:00

The past three days, I've been shooting photos outside of Rome's historic area for my first photo assignment. I've been to what you might call the Chinatown of Rome to get away from a typical tourist image and capture a life apart from the Colosseum and capital. I'll be editing and printing photos in the lab today and will post some photos from my series shortly. I've shot over 600 images and plan to make contact sheets for at least 90 today.

Rome: Getting Aquatinted

2011-06-05T11:36:00.000-07:00

Today, my roommate Ali and I managed to visit all seven hills of the city. In short, we walked our feet off covering as many possible corners of Rome as we could. We breezed through most all of the tourist sites and tried our best to get aquatinted with the city we will be living in until July. Below are a few photos I snapped along our journey —

Like many tourists, we stopped and looked ...

... and, then ran like crazy across the street to avoid speeding mopeds.

We visited many sites, like the capital, which are constantly undergoing restoration.

Ah, the Colosseum, is an absolutely phenomenal site and it's only a few minutes away from our apartment. It's also home to many fake Roman soldiers and Indian merchants selling postcards.

We pass the Colosseum a lot on our way to and from sites and destinations.

This is my roommate and travel partner in crime, Ali Dean.

Nuns passing a liquor store. Had to take it.

This police officer, like many officials, is dressed to impressed while directing traffic.

Historical monuments are EVERYWHERE.

Amazing four-cheese pizza for lunch. Check out that thin, crispy crust. Yummm.

Home sweet home.

Italian beaches

2011-06-04T14:42:00.000-07:00

A beach is a beach pretty much any where in the world you go. There is sand. There is water. And, if the sand and water are clean, and bottles of cold water are served, people in search of relaxation and sun will come. European beaches are also very similar to each other because they often showcase fashionable male speedos, female thongs and occasionally bare-breasted ladies. What makes an Italian beach special? Well, the obvious answer is the language. But, an Italian beach to me is more than that — it's a place to enjoy the paradise of a beach with amazingly fresh, flavorful fruit drinks. Among the Indian hawkers that pace the beach begging tan bodies to buy an item or more, there are a handful of hawkers that dominate the sand — those who sell coconut. They will serve you a piece of fresh coconut to enjoy. But, don't stop there, go buy a fruta drink of pear or pineapple. It's usually fresh squeezed juice that moves slowly from your lips to your tongue in the sweetest flavor.

Welcome to my home

2011-06-04T13:35:00.000-07:00

I have spent all of two days living in Rome and while my Italian is still a little rusty, I’d like to think I’m trying the best I can to stay out and about, immersed in the culture. In the meantime, I wanted to introduce you to my apartment by way of a few poorly lit images —

I thought about color-correcting the orange out of these photos, but this is really the feel of our apartment. We have bad light and, yes, there are huge cracks on our smudged-up wall. But, we do have a lot of floor space and the students before us left us tons of useful presents — like Rome guides, spices and cookbooks.

This is my desk and our room fan, which surprisingly we haven't had to use. We don't have air conditioning and our apartment hasn't been humid or hot despite the 90+ degree weather we've been having the past two days. You can't see my full window in this photo very well, but it's probably my favorite part of our room (two beds to a room in a four-person apartment). There is a restaurant smack next to our apartment complex and every night, I hear loud Italian voices, motorbikes, unfamiliar cracks and whistles, and if I'm lucky the accordion player (he's my favorite) will show off his skills for some fortunate diners — and surrounding listeners.

This is our sitting area/dining room and the room deep in the photo is our kitchen.

There are unnecessary doors everywhere.

In our kitchen, we have a washing machine, microwave, gas oven, refrigerator, sink, and tons of storage.

Meet our gas pipe. This is probably the scariest part of our kitchen. We have to turn this knob to flow gas to our stove. Then, we push a button to ignite the flame... sometimes the flame doesn't ignite in our oven which requires long matches, but that's a whole other scary story. We have to remember to turn this knob off or our entire apartment could become extremely flammable.

It might not be five-star accommodations, but it's got Italian charm.

Photographic Projects in Rome

2011-05-31T09:09:00.000-07:00

Living in post-Semester at Sea mode has been less jarring than expected, but I can still say that my fall traveling experience changed me in ways I never knew possible. To keep the memories alive, I’ve been fortunate enough to stay in contact with close friends from the ship. For two dinners this past spring, I met up with a few Semester at Sea students and lifelong learners who live or go to school in Ithaca. I was even able to meet up with some of my absolute best friends from the ship — Maria (from Venezuela), Anjali and Aman (from Mumbai) in Boston over a weekend in May. My roommate Leah and I constantly reminisce about our travels around the world and I can honestly say, I’m so glad we were able to take the Semester at Sea journey together.

While I’ve enjoyed a semi-normal student routine since December, I have to admit I’ve been aching to travel again. I figured my budget probably couldn’t handle another plane ticket with an international itinerary, but I’ve learned the travel-hungry student gets creative.

So, here’s my status:

I’m currently finagling my college plans to try and graduate a semester early, in December, to save money. I just need to complete a photography class this summer to stay on track with my still-photography minor. Incredibly, my spring History of Photography class professor Nicholas Muellner is teaching a class in Rome from June 2 to July 3. I was offered a scholarship. My travel bug has latched. I’m signed up to leave Thursday.

I’ll be armed with my camera and will most definitely be blogging as much as possible. Talk to you soon from Italy.

Life at home

2011-02-13T14:45:00.000-08:00

Christmas break: Top, my parents with a snowman we all created at my house. Below, my boyfriend and I at Longwood Gardens in PA.

It's been two months since I walked off the MV Explorer in California, headed back to New Freedom, PA and ultimately, back to college in Ithaca, NY.

When I first arrived home, I felt extremely disconnected from things I once associated myself with and I still feel a sense of isolation, carrying my experience like a secret that I wish I could explain, but can't.

Saying "I traveled the world last semester" hasn't gotten as many questions as it has been my answer to why I don't know the progress of the new Ithaca College Athletics and Events Center on campus or the lyrics to "Whip My Hair" or the new restaurants downtown or why I've missed the deadlines to internship applications I should have completed.

Of course, a lot of people have been genuinely interested in the Semester at Sea program and my voyage last fall. Several people have asked me "What is your favorite place?" or "Was the program awesome?" or "Did you love it?" ... still, these questions have been difficult for me to answer. If I start talking about some of the raw realities I faced like the poverty, I feel like I'm letting people's expectations down. But, if I talk about the luxurious aspects of the voyage, I'm really not explaining the meaning behind the voyage. I've learned that the simpliest answers are usually the best in passing conversation. And, if people really want to know about the voyage, they'll sit down and talk with me about it. After all, it's hard to explain in a sentence.

Has the trip affected the way I live now? Yes and no. I'd like to think that I am often reminded of my trip through daily activities — like running the water to brush my teeth sometimes causes me to think of the townships in Africa that don't have anything close to this privilege. The trip has also given me a lot to think about in terms of how I should live my life, how to weigh what's really important and how to be thankful for the luxuries I frequently overlook.

Semester at Sea ignites a passion in students, like myself, to radically make a change, a difference in the world. But, when I moved back on campus, started going to classes, and got back into a schedule I've known for three years now, radically changing the world seemed and still seems like a bit of an unorganized dream.

The American bubble seems so far away from Ghana, South Africa, Vietnam, India and many of the cultures I encountered. I'm still searching for a genuine way to connect my life here to my goals last semester.

In a way, it's frustrating that I still haven't figured everything out — that I haven't solved world hunger, stopped the sex-trade or provided an education for all children worldwide. But, maybe it's not about understanding everything right now ... maybe it's just about keeping the conversation alive and staying dedicated to finding the answer one day soon.

welcome home

2010-12-26T09:38:00.001-08:00

Hawaii

2010-12-26T09:01:00.000-08:00

hair appointment in Japan

2010-12-26T08:42:00.001-08:00

Japan

2010-11-25T20:59:00.000-08:00

China

2010-11-23T20:46:00.000-08:00

Cambodia

2010-11-23T20:36:00.000-08:00

Andre

2010-11-16T22:50:00.000-08:00

My good friend Andre passed away the night of November 6. Please pray for his family and the SAS students of the fall 2010 trip. He will be missed. For more information, visit the Semester at Sea Web site.

Singapore for 2 days: snapshots

2010-11-04T05:37:00.001-07:00

Photos from India

2010-10-28T23:31:00.000-07:00

SAS Sea Olympics 2010

2010-10-21T19:48:00.000-07:00

Two days in Mauritius

2010-10-19T05:40:00.000-07:00

Photos from South Africa

2010-10-12T04:11:00.000-07:00

The Divide

2010-10-12T04:02:00.000-07:00

Cape Town is a prospering, luxurious metropolis — and, a poor, violent township.

I went into a mall — a real mall. With designer stores and beautiful architecture. I watched American television on a huge bed. I took a cable car to the top of Table Mountain and my skin turned wet as I walked through a cloud on a blustery day. I went on a safari through Kruger Park and sat inches away from some of the most beautiful and powerful creatures I’ve ever seen. I had a vacation. I had a luxurious vacation. And, that’s what most Americans, Europeans or Germans do when they come to South Africa — especially when they visit Cape Town.

I also spent time visiting the townships. Just a few blocks down from the high-rises, university, spacious theaters and fancy restaurants are hundreds of shacks, made up only of metal scraps leaning in disarray. The ground is dirt and rocks. Black women move through their daily work of scrubbing their clothes and corralling their children. Black men smoke cigarettes and talk to me about how they wish their houses were homes. It is difficult for the men here because it is hard to find work and women are cheaper labor. But, even for women, life is not easy. They are stressed taking on positions of homemaker and provider. Because of disease and violence, families are often fragmented — which makes life within the impoverished townships even more complicated and exhausting.

An American might think Cape Town is a city like New York or Baltimore — all have a bad side of town and a prospering side. But, South Africa is so different. The divide between rich and poor is blatant. There is absolutely no middle class. There is a white man sipping expensive wine in a multi-million dollar beach house in view of a drunken black man beating his wife to try to numb the feeling of having so much less than his neighbor.

While I have witnessed extreme poverty in the townships of South Africa, I do see ideas for change. I visited the Indlovu Project, a plan for sustainable development for a township community, and spoke with a woman who has a true passion and is making progress— she has new buildings, a way to deal with sewage and she has the intelligence to make a difference. This is something that was not as evident to me in Morocco or Ghana.

I see plans, I see organization and a will for prosperity. I see plans for a better township. I see wealthy people starting to mobilize those plans. And, while this process has not been speedy or as efficient as it could have been, I think South Africa has hope for a middle class. For example, tourism is a true moneymaker in Cape Town and townships are starting to realize how they can profit from people who are looking to buy crafts and pieces of African culture. There is a market in Cape Town, there are rich people and I believe that this part of Africa has the tools to reverse the corruption and chaos that has brought so much pain to this area.

Phone Numbers from Ghana

2010-10-02T13:21:00.000-07:00

Ghana greeted me, with colors, open arms and music.

Sometimes I felt myself overlooking the sewage filled streets, the trash left scattered and the homes that barely stood on their cracked foundation. I merely saw the smiles, the “God loves you” signs, the love of Americans and the children waving at me as I rode past them. It was easy for me to spend a few days in Ghana, buy a drum, hike through a rainforest, give candy to a child, listen to a tour guide and leave with the sense that Ghana is a happy place. But, as I reflect on my experiences, I realize that Ghana is not always happy — poverty is everywhere. And, it’s important to study the problems that lie beneath the smiles and hospitality.

There were hints of desperation. I spent an entire day watching, learning, drumming and dancing with talented locals a few minutes away from the port. It seemed clear that the men who were single wanted to let all of the American girls know their availability. And, when I interviewed a musician about his ideas of love and marriage, he gave me a ten-minute speech about how he wants so much to marry a white woman. At first, I thought these advances were amusing and harmless, but I began to question why exactly people in Ghana love white people so much.

When I decided to go out at night with friends to see a live band and dancing, I spent more time with the friendly locals that had the same idea of becoming ‘fast friends.’ My friend Aman met the four local guys the day before. He played football (soccer) with them and they paid for his lunch. They seemed like nice people who were relatively well off. We thought they were safe and not just looking for charity.

So, we decided to go out with them. We were three ladies, one American, one Venezuelan, one Indian, and a guy, Indian. I was the whitest person there. I felt like a light bulb in a dark room — an awkward light bulb.

They wanted my telephone number, the young girls who were dancing the day before wanted it too. They wanted to meet with me later. They wanted to keep in touch. I hadn’t even been in Ghana for a whole day and these people wanted to be lifelong friends. I thought, maybe this is okay; maybe this is just their way. But, I still didn’t give them my phone number. It didn’t feel right.

I don’t know exactly how to feel about the people of Ghana.

I left with the idea that Ghanaians see white as salvation. They want to connect to white. They want to marry white. They think white will pull them from poverty and take them places. I can’t say that my experiences speak for all Ghanaians and I hope that my ideas are wrong. But, four days and over a dozen phone numbers later, I can’t help but think that the people of Ghana are desperate for something.

Lollipop

2010-09-30T00:58:00.000-07:00

Her breath smelled bad. I was overcome with this smell as she sucked on the lollipop I gave her. After I saw a black tooth rotting in the back of her mouth, I questioned the wisdom of giving it to her.

I came to the Egyam Orphanage that day to bring dozens of shoes, toothbrushes, toothpaste, socks and toys. The donations from Semester at Sea were even paying for a full year of school expenses for all of the orphans. But, I couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t enough.

Am I really helping here? Am I really making any kind of difference? I don’t really know. There seems to be so much need, but it’s not clear how to even begin to fix it.

She is so young, maybe 10 years old. The owner of the orphanage said that she probably won’t get a good education. She doesn’t even have a chance unless she proves she is smarter than all of her peers. Even then, she probably won’t be prosperous. She won’t be able to academically grow. If you get a master’s degree here, you are lucky if you can use that degree to get a job as a tour guide.

She is smart though. There is no doubt about that. Her English is much better than most of girls her age at the orphanage. She can even tell the time. And, she shows an interest in learning. She is also a great singer. She sings about Jesus and how much she loves Him.

What will happen when the children here run out of shoes and money? Will another organization donate more?
If her shoes fall apart, she isn’t allowed to go to school.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help. I don’t know what to give her.
She will never have a life like mine. I wish she could.

I’m starting to get discouraged. Every donation seems like the lollipop. It only satisfies for a moment. She’s smiling right now, but when she’s finished sucking on the candy, we will be gone. The sweet taste will leave her mouth. And there she will sit hoping that someone else will listen to her songs and provide her needs.

Ghana in Photos

2010-09-24T13:29:00.000-07:00

REWIND: FlipVideo from Spain

2010-09-21T06:08:00.000-07:00

Hip Hop in Morocco

2010-09-21T01:35:00.000-07:00

Men were screaming at me. They were pulling me and following me around. They were too close. I didn’t want their Morocco magnets, snakes, monkeys or jewelry. I was looking for music. I needed to find a hip-hop shop.

Before I stepped foot inside Morocco, I planned how I would find a story there. I wanted to find something special to the culture and the people — something that wasn’t well known, but was important to Moroccans. Through my Video Journalism class, I learned about a subculture that was using rap music as a medium for freedom of speech. My professor said the music has gained popularity among local youth over the past few years.

In America, hip-hop music is about sex, clubs, bad relationships, bad situations, love and money. My friends play it from their iPods at parties. I dance to it. I sing the lyrics when I’m driving with friends.

But, in Morocco, hip-hop music is serious. It’s underground. It’s powerful. It shakes and moves people not only on the dance floor, but also within themselves — their ethics, beliefs and life views. Hip-hop music speaks. It is the free medium by which Moroccan youth can publicly declare their opinions about politics, government and quality of life.

After watching a documentary on hip-hop in Morocco, I learned that rap music stores are not the most glorified Muslim places. In fact, most Muslims think it is sinful to listen or create rap music. The second day I was in Morocco, I asked my cab driver where to find a rap CD and he told me Morocco doesn’t have hip-hop music. So, I wasn’t sure exactly how I was going to stumble upon this music, but I was hopeful.

My hopes became a reality when I spotted a CD vendor on my way out of the market. His stand was full of “Best of Morocco” CDs and other more traditional playlists.

I didn’t want that. I asked him if he had any rap and I named off some of the popular Moroccan artists, like H-Kayne, I had learned about. He threw down a few cases in front of me. He had them. There they were. They were real. Rap music exists in an Islamic Country.

They weren’t the most professional looking CD cases. The cases were cracked and the cover looked like it was created in Microsoft Word. Honestly, I had my doubts that the broken CD cases I was holding were meaningful to Moroccan youth at all, but I bought them anyway. They were cheap and they sounded authentic.

That night, Moroccan hip-hop came alive.

I was meeting my friends at our hotel pool and when I arrived, I saw that they were engaged in a conversation with one of the hotel workers. All of the sudden, I found myself listening to a Moroccan man talk about hip-hop music. Aman, the hotel groundskeeper, had seen one of the CDs that my friends and I had purchased earlier and he was excited. He dove into a serious description of what rap music means to Morocco.

Aman’s thoughts were moving faster than his words because he was passionate about this music. Through this music, he said youth voices were heard. He kept repeating that the music held political opinions. After talking with Aman I realized that while the CDs might not look like much to an American, fans like Aman see them as a way to have a voice in Morocco. Aman told me to translate every word. He said this music is special to him and the youth of Morocco.

Aman wanted me to listen, analyze and appreciate the music. No one has ever told me to closely listen to the words of a rap song.

Pieces of a culture are hard to find. They don’t always come wrapped in neat packages, look particularly colorful or shiny. They can be dirty, ugly and strange.

While the CDs didn’t at first seem like much to me, I soon realized that I had just bought something that is valuable and sacred to the youth of Morocco.

Photos from Morocco

2010-09-18T16:06:00.000-07:00

Naked in Casablanca

2010-09-18T01:31:00.000-07:00

I am naked. I am standing in Africa naked. I am standing in Morocco naked. I am in a bathhouse on a poor side of Casablanca, naked.

But, I’m not alone. The other women in the hammam are naked too.

Morocco is an Islamic Country. Here, men crowd the streets and fill the cafes. Women are rarely seen. If women are seen, usually their eyes are the only piece of them that is visible underneath all of their clothing. A veil covers their head almost completely and their clothing reaches to their feet. They are modest from head to toe.

After reading Laura Fraser’s article Under the Veils in Casablanca on Salon.com this summer, I promised myself that I would become more daring when trying to understand a new culture. I would sacrifice my pride, my manners and maybe my clothes if it meant I would learn how a culture operates in an intimate way. After all, I’m not a tourist, I’m a student, and I travel to learn. So, if learning means searching sketchy, poor side streets of Casablanca in order to participate in a ritual cleansing with naked Muslims, I’m all for it.

I had second thoughts about my methods of learning after a stocky Muslim woman ripped off my underwear and laid me naked across a marble slab.

I am in a large marble room lined with low sinks. Marble bleachers are on my right. I have no idea what I am supposed to do. A woman with long brown hair, a pear-shaped figure and a kind smile is in charge of me. She pours water over my body, hands soap to me and I realize that I am involved — involved in a serious, yet awesome cleansing experience.

Naked women walk casually around the hammam. They wash and socialize. Their bodies are much different than what an American woman is used to seeing. Their olive skin is soft. Their stomachs are big like a Crockpot full of soup supported by wide hips. Their breasts fall to their belly, as if they were never propped up quite right. And, these bodies walk with a relaxed stride from the steam room to the sinks.

I am the skinniest woman in the hammam and, for the first time in my life, I am concerned that my stomach is too flat and my shape isn’t curvy enough. Still, I am treated the same as every French-speaking Muslim there. Women lead me from room to room and my body endures treatments, scrubs and massages.

And there is slime involved: hot green goo that is massaged and pasted all over my body. The pear-shaped woman wraps me up like a plastic taco that keeps the green goo inside, with me. As I lay there, covered in green goo and plastic in Morocco with naked Muslim women walking, talking and bathing all around me, I realize that I feel comfortable. If I were in America, this would be the salon and I would be getting my hair cut.

But, this is better. This is bonding. This is strength. These are Muslim women revealed and casual. These are women in the bath. They are not wrapped pieces of cloth walking behind their husbands through the market. They were not keeping their home and praying.

I visit more than three rooms of the hammam, each with it’s own treatment and its own batch of women. I let myself be vulnerable to a cultural experience far out of my comfort zone. And, I take part it a ritual that is sacred and special to the women of Morocco.

Then, I walk back out to the polluted city streets filled with men, lower my head, clutch my purse and pray a taxi will get me back to the my room safely — all the time, smiling because I know the secrets that lay under the Muslim veil.

Rachid

2010-09-14T06:45:00.000-07:00

This is Rachid. He lives in Morocco. He is about 15 years old. He is an orphan. But, the SOS Children’s Village cares for him.

He doesn’t have much and giving him a jump rope makes his day. We played tennis and I learned that he smiles wider than any child I’ve ever met.

He asked for my phone number. He made me laugh.

He ran after me when I had to leave. He gave me a drawing of a castle. It’s an original print by Rachid himself.

I realized he would never live in a castle.

I want to give him a castle. I think he deserves one.

Rachid was my first taste of Morocco.

Spain

2010-09-13T09:39:00.000-07:00

Spain talks — all the time. Locals love to talk to each other and they will talk to you too, if you know a little Spanish.

When I first stepped off the ship, I was fearless. There are beaches here, blacktop roads and there are even Burger King fast-food restaurants. The architecture is a little different and people speak a different language, but it seemed very similar to the life I’m used to in America.

After spending a few days in Spain, I found that the culture is more different than I thought.

If Americans eat the most, Spaniards must come in at a close second. People don’t just eat breakfast, lunch and dinner here, they eat tapas— in the end, Spaniards might go out to eat five times in one day. Their portion size is not always modest either. I rarely was able to finish a plate of food, which was typically rich in starches like potatoes.

Food is definitely part of a social experience. Waiters typically do not seat you and hardly stop by your table, unless summoned for la cuenta (the bill). When eating, you don’t shovel your food down your throat, you sit, enjoy and talk to your friends for at least an hour or more.

Socializing with friends and family is not just a dining activity, it is done everywhere. When I visited a beach in Cadiz, I did not see one cell phone, but the conversation was endless. People sit in large groups and enjoy each other’s company.

It is also very rare to see locals walking by themselves. People usually walk in groups. Women, especially in cities, do not walk alone.

When they get tired from talking so much and doing a little work during the day, it is time for an afternoon siesta (nap). It is usually difficult to find a store that is open in the afternoon, because most people close shops to go home to rest. In the evening, work resumes.

True Spanish culture blossoms at night. After a long dinner around 10:30 p.m., the streets are still crowded with bodies bustling and talking. It’s strange, from an American’s view, to see mothers pushing strollers with babies through narrow streets and bars at midnight. The city appears to come alive when the sun sleeps.

My friends and I went out after dinner one night to discover what this nightlife really has to offer. From 1 to 2 a.m. we found hoards of students walking around Cadiz with grocery bags. When we followed them, and walked up a few stairs, we found a huge balcony packed with bodies and drinks. This is where people gather before the fiestas.

Parties start at 3 a.m. and last until at least 7 a.m. Dancing and drinks in a nightclub is the usual scene.

Around 10 a.m., the city starts to wake up again, but they are not in a rush. Work can wait. Here, they do not live to work, they work so that they can live and continue living, socializing, taking a siesta and enjoying the fiesta.

Flip Video Update: Pre-Cadiz

2010-09-04T08:32:00.000-07:00

music by: curtis alban

Photo Op

2010-09-03T13:25:00.000-07:00

I may have quickly borrowed the Captain's chair...

Cruising Cuisine

2010-09-02T08:34:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that the MV Explorer was once a cruise ship, students are constantly reminded that it is no longer a cruise ship today — but rather a campus. A place that once was a casino is now a library and a computer lab is right across the hall. We don’t have amazing cuisine and luxury buffets at our disposal and I’ll be the first to tell you that this voyage is not about entertainment and leisure.

Let’s talk FOOD:

Breakfast is from 7:30 to 8:30 a.m., lunch is from 11:30 to 12:30 p.m. and dinner is from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. Despite the first day on ship (when parents were touring our facilities), we have no gourmet eating options.

BREAKFAST, in my opinion, is the best meal of the day on ship. We have pastries, omelets, cereal, yogurt, potatoes and occasionally a few other options — including a runny version of oatmeal. It is the same every day.

LUNCH and dinner hours are usually when the food quality all goes downhill. Pasta is served at every meal. It is usually flavored with some version of watery ketchup with curry and the same unusual flavor, despite lack of popularity, will be used for several days. Some kind of sauce-smothered meat, potatoes, cauliflower or broccoli is also available. DINNER always consists of a meat and a fish option with eerily similar pasta and vegetables as lunch. These items are consistently repeated in various ways and I imagine will continue to be served the remainder of the voyage. The food has been making me sick for a few days now, but I’m getting used to it and learning what food options are best.

My strategy for surviving:

Breakfast: Yogurt and cereal.

Lunch: Sandwich (which are only served in one of the two dining halls)

Dinner: Mystery food.

While we don’t have chocolate fountains, all-you-can-eat buffets and exotic seafood available on ship, we have all we need. To be honest, I look forward to meals on ship — not because of the food, but because of the workers that always make you smile with their hospitality and energy.

This voyage is not about the food, it’s about people. It’s about people on the ship, whether they are old, young, student, worker, child, professor, cabin steward, chef, or dean. Everyone on this ship is working and working hard. And, we are part of a special community that few have the opportunity to join. We are blessed right now and we haven’t even stopped in a port yet.

This isn’t a cruise. Everywhere you turn, a student is talking about how much reading he or she has for homework, people are scampering through the halls with laptops held high in the air in hopes of catching some form of Wi-Fi, club meetings are being organized and professors are contemplating how to raise their children and teach a class on a ship. This is college under unusual circumstances. It is wonderful and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t living in a level of luxury. But, this isn’t a time to relax. This is a time to learn through different means, in different cultures, with different people.

LAND!

2010-09-01T15:42:00.000-07:00

Around 8 a.m., I saw the first piece of land I’ve seen since the ship left Halifax, Canada. We passed the Azores, a group of islands in the Atlantic Ocean. Some students woke up extra early just to see the islands and take photographs. It’s funny what people get excited about when they see nothing but blue ocean for a while. I found the Azores on my way to breakfast. I have to admit, it was nice to see the islands — just there in the middle of the ocean… like our ship.

Evening in photos

2010-08-31T13:54:00.000-07:00

Diary from the Ocean

2010-08-31T03:06:00.000-07:00

Today is my sixth day on the ship. The past two days have been my first days of classes (we operate on a A-B schedule, I have one class on A days and three classes on B days). My first impression of the classes on board is that some include a lot of bookwork and readings while others seem more fun and formatted with workshop-style lessons.

In my Global Studies class yesterday, we had a guest speaker who threw more dates and facts at us in 20 minutes than I ever thought humanly possible. I’m pretty sure that single session will target me as a candidate for carpal tunnel. The information is interesting — there is just a lot of it. My World Religion class seems like a class I’ll really enjoy. My past religion classes have prepared me for most of the material we are covering and the professor seems really excited about the course material, which is always an added bonus.

My other two classes, Video Journalism and Writing Around the World, I took for my journalism major. I hope to use these classes to branch out and explore global journalism in ways I have never had the opportunity to in America.

To track the ship’s progress, learn more about courses or itinerary, or to check out the SAS blog (which my roommate Leah is a part of) click here.

Thank you for all of your emails and support! Feel free to send me any other questions/information/advise at aemay@semesteratsea.net.

Day two of classes

2010-08-30T17:42:00.000-07:00

Today, I was told that I am rich. Even though I was denied for a credit card last month because of insufficient income and my student loans are much larger than I’d like, my Global Studies professor says I am rich. I am sailing around the world on a ship — taking classes and learning through opportunities that many will not experience in their lifetime. During the next few months, I will discover what it means to have the opportunities I have, because I will meet people who barely have education, housing and food. I will be immersed in poverty and strife. I will learn that I am extremely blessed and fortunate to have the life I lead. I am rich, and so are you.

My Cabin

2010-08-30T14:02:00.000-07:00

What are you most looking forward to?

2010-08-29T15:37:00.000-07:00

I have never been able to pick just one place I want to travel to and learn about — that’s why I chose a study abroad program like Semester at Sea. I never was a student who had a favorite destination and a desire to stay in one place for an entire semester — I wanted to see it all. I still want to see it all.

At this point in our voyage, I definitely have sites that I am extremely excited to see like the Great Wall of China, Kruger National Park, the Terracotta Soldiers, the Sahara Desert and so much more. But, most of the areas I am traveling to I know little about.

Mystery and adventure is something that draws me. I’m excited to see different ways of life. I grew up in a farming community and just last year I took my first trip out of the country to London and Scotland. I don’t really know what kind of experiences are out there, waiting for me, but that makes it all the more wonderful to me. This is my time to be an adventurer, an explorer and a global learner — that is why Semester at Sea is so great for me.

I’ve also never sailed on a ship before and while this ship college community is also very foreign to me, I know meeting and being with these people on board will teach me great lessons and help me mature in ways I’ve never thought possible. So many of the people I’ve met here already have traveled all over the world and have life experiences that are so different from mine. It is fascinating to hear their stories and life perspectives. This voyage is already causing me to think in ways I’ve never thought possible. Semester at Sea is all about discovering the great unknown — whether that is finding a global understanding or something beyond that.

I’m here to learn, to see what I have never seen, to do what I have never done and to grow in ways that will make me a better individual. I’m out of the typical college campus and learning with my heart open and body immersed. This is the kind of education that matters most.

I want to be a better person from this experience. I want to bring home with me great knowledge that I can share with my family and friends.

Internet

2010-08-28T17:34:00.000-07:00

Internet is very expensive and very temperamental here. So, it rarely works when I need it. When I do create a post, I want to make sure it is filled with the best information for readers — so, email me at my Semester at Sea email address (which is a free service): aemay@semesteratsea.net. I will do my best to answer any questions about my voyage or provide you with any other information you are interested in through my blog.

First Sail

2010-08-28T04:29:00.001-07:00

Saturday, August 28, 2010

It is our third day on ship but our first full day sailing. Leah and I just ate breakfast with the dean’s son, who is sailing on his fourth SAS voyage. He slept on the deck last night and said Leah and I should definitely try it before we leave the ship. So, we are going to have to find some sleeping bags somewhere.
Today is full of orientation meetings.

Friday, August 27, 2010

These last few days have been surreal — a whirlwind of fantasy.
My cabin is small, but clean and will be an absolutely perfect home until December. I will introduce it through photographs or video as soon as my Internet cooperates.
Our ship deported today at 5 p.m. I officially see ocean outside of my window. No land is in sight. We are headed to Cadiz, Spain.

Everyone on board is walking like they are drunk — we are still searching for our sea legs. I hope we find them soon. In the meantime, we amuse ourselves by bumping into things and falling down stairs. We just came from an orientation where we learned statistics about how many students/faculty/staff are on board. About 604 students are currently on ship. We were also introduced to each of the professors on board — it seems like we have a very interesting and intelligent teachers.

All day, the main announcements have included information about motion sickness medication. I haven’t taken any and I am currently doing alright. My stomach feels fine — but, I can see how this motion could give me a serious headache. It is definitely not smooth sailing and the caption said we might experience some bounce from the distant hurricane. We were told that the MV Explorer is an extremely fast cruise ship.

Internet here is extremely frustrating. I know that most people on board are trying to get away from communication, but this is a journalist’s nightmare. I tried to upload a video of my cabin earlier and realized that it would take my ENTIRE allowance for Internet to post it. I’m determined to find a way to post video — it just might not be posted as promptly as I would like.

There is so much to write about! I will keep you updated as best as I can. Right now, I’m struggling with Internet time.

Last night in America

2010-08-25T17:55:00.001-07:00

Today has been filled with anxiety, bittersweet emotions, lots of traveling, last-minute packing and goodbyes. But, soon I will be saying hello — hello to life on a floating college, hello to new faces, hello to new cultures and so much more. So, for now, goodbye America and hello Semester at Sea.

Preparing for SAS

2010-07-31T17:11:00.001-07:00

In less than a month, I will set sail around the world and see sites that I’m sure will change my view of the world forever.

But, right now, all I can think about is if I have enough shoes, shirts, pants, shampoo, camera equipment, sunscreen, allergy pills and whatever else a college student needs for a semester abroad packed and ready to go. Honestly, I have nothing packed. I do have a somewhat-organized room of chaos in my house that holds all of the items I think will prepare me for my journey — including an extremely potent bottle of insect repellant that could double as a weapon in case of emergencies.

So far this year, I have been to doctor’s offices on numerous occasions to get medicine, immunizations and allergy shots to further prepare me for a fall outside of the USA. I have been poked with needles over 85 times this summer alone. I just have two more to go! — Rabies and Japanese Encephalitis. Exciting, I know.

After the shots, packing and paperwork hustle, I’m hoping I am prepared for whatever the world reveals to me in the following months.

Semester at Sea

2010-06-08T10:36:00.000-07:00

I am currently planning to go a new adventure. This time, I will be voyaging around the world with a program called Semester at Sea. From August 27 to December 13, I will be sailing to 15 different ports around the globe. On board, I will be taking classes and during port, I will be learning about new countries and new cultures. I think it will be a trip of a lifetime.

To follow my journey, check back with my blog. I will be writing lots of articles, taking photographs and video.

Below is a list of all of the ports I will be stopping at:

Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada
Cadiz, Spain
Casablanca, Morocco
Takoradi, Ghana
Cape Town, South Africa
Port Louis, Mauritius
Chennai, India
Singapore
Ho Chi Minh City, Viet Nam
Hong Kong / Shanghai, China
Yokohama / Kobe, Japan
Honolulu / Hilo, Hawaii, USA
San Diego, California, USA

Back

2009-06-15T08:30:00.001-07:00

Welcomed home by beautiful weather and comforting faces, I am back in PA.

My first night back was not exactly as exciting as I anticipated, but that is probably my fault because I fell asleep at 8 p.m. only to realize at 1 a.m. I was wide-awake and fully dressed.

Time in New Freedom, PA has come and gone but the routine has not changed too much.

Life started up the same way I left it. I still need to pay my speeding ticket. My room appears in the usual order and my house operates the same way. I am still obligated to write for a new job at Fly Magazine—my first articles are due June 26. I still have to make a million appointments and catch up on bank documents.

Most of my friends are busy trying to make money and my best friend is in New York. My boyfriend Curtis is still leaving for basic training. He will be in Georgia for six months. The only change is that now the date is sooner than we expected.

While trying to get my body back on East Coast time, normalcy is setting back in. No longer am I on holiday in a foreign country. I have a lot of responsibilities to take care of. Between spending time with Curtis, I have been trying to get back to my usual schedule.

After so many new adventures abroad, my first doctor’s appointment back in the states seemed a little strange.

Sitting behind the desk was the same secretary that I had made the appointment with a few days before I left for London. Her hair was done the same way and she wore the same blue scrubs she had four weeks ago. While she handed me the paperwork and briefed me in the documents that I had forgot to bring, I could not help but to think of how different our lives were.

She sat at the same desk everyday giving and taking documents. She laughed occasionally at a patient’s joke or a doctor’s comment. She saw the same co-workers everyday and knew them well. She lives routinely, in a climate of basically no change or difference.

Perhaps in her youth she traveled and saw sights like I did. Views like the mountains of Scotland may have captured her spirit and the bustle of places like the London tube may have made her feel worldly and important. Maybe she went to a European club and met people from France, Spain, Japan and the Middle East. She probably had experiences that she will never forget.

But, today, she sits in a worn chair and fusses with me about forgotten paperwork.

I apologize and tell her I am a little tired because I have just returned from London. She does not really care. She does not ask me about my travels. Instead, she returns to her frustrated state and displays an expression that makes me think the paperwork is a life or death form of documentation.

I looked at her and thought that in a lot of ways I can be like this secretary. Often I am wrapped up in my work and my business seems like the only business in need of concern. My first year at college proved this to be true.

My world consists of a small dorm room on a college campus that is an isolated community in itself. All that seems important is working hard to keep up my grades and get to know my professors. Media projects and a J Research paper smothered my thoughts and kept me focused on only the tasks at hand.

Most likely I will keep this mentality throughout my college education, because as students, this is what we are taught to do. Mentors preach to us about how the path to success is keeping focused and dedicated to our work.

However, taking this Travel Writing course abroad has shown me a different and crucial element of education—a respect for outside experience.

While I usually am the type of person who takes control of her life and her business, this course invited me to let my environment make most of the calls. Soon, I became less concerned about the blog post I would need to write in a few hours and more excited about what the next travel destination would bring.

London is a thriving city that charmed me with accents and various elements of European culture. It was an experience using pounds and pence to pay for items instead of dollars and cents. Learning how to substitute words like toilet for restroom, cheers for thanks, pissed for drunk and prawn for shrimp added to the fun of the trip.

Scotland is a beautiful place with lochs and bens that I could not take my eyes off of. The place and the people are charming. Eating lunch on the top of a mountain is something magical. It is a land that enveloped me with appeal and beauty.

This experience not only showed me a side of the world I had never seen, but it also opened my eyes to how magnificent a different culture can be. Allowing myself to fall into the arms of these places caused me to understand a new way of life. I was learning without using Google, textbooks or lectures.

Instead of placing the focus on taking notes and writing papers, I found that keeping my eyes open and my body moving produced the best work at the end of the day.

While the everyday grind and routine I know so well is no less essential to life, it is important to know that experiences and travels grant the most unique type of education and fulfillment.

Today, I am going to the beach with Curtis. It is nothing out of the ordinary, just a trip to a local beach. We will probably lay in the sand, swim under the waves and maybe take a run. This is the way summer usually goes.

Today, my doctor’s secretary sits in her chair scolding another patient for forgetting their paperwork.

Today, Mando Steve is stepping on the Tube to start work playing his mandolin.

Today, the Haggis tour guide Debs is showing off how beautiful the mountains of Scotland look with an accompanying joke of the day.

Today, is the start of a new week and a new routine.

Today, the world lies open and vulnerable to a new group of students who will break away from their small world and discover the lessons found in a foreign land.

Journals from Scotland

2009-06-09T11:16:00.000-07:00

June 1, 2009

This morning we headed out on our tour bus through Scotland. It is unusually hot, probably around 80 degrees. Our tour guide Debs assures us that the weather is extremely rare.

Our first journey took us from Edinburgh to Ft. Augustus. We stayed at the Morags Hostel near Loch Ness.

Before settling in for the night, we saw a traditional Scottish demonstration of how to wear a kilt as well as learned some Scottish history about how traditional highland men and women used to live.

Next I scouted for the Loch Ness monster...

LOOK! THERE IT IS!

Ok, so I didn't see the Loch Ness monster, but the loch is absolutely breathtaking in itself.

June 3

Today is my third day in the highlands of Scotland. So far, this country is exceeding all of my expectations. I think that just about everyone in our group has said at least once that they are ready to pack up and move here for a while.

Yesterday, we stayed in a hostel at Ullapool. It was one of the most beautiful places I've ever stayed. The bens (mountains) stood tall everywhere, the loch was still right outside of our flat window--the view is beautiful.

However, the hostage experience was a little unusual--actually pretty strict. We had an 11:30 p.m. curfew and a stern manager.

The locals assured us that such an institution was unusual and the people here are actually very hospitable and entertaining.

At dinner, I met another Scottish tour guide who had a humorous personality and sweet Scottish cheer.

...to be continued.

Saucy Scotland

2009-06-08T17:02:00.001-07:00

She was a Viking princess who embodied the wild spirit of Scotland. While her home resided in the purest beauty of Scotland, she indulged in scandalous acts. Most people knew her as Saucy Mary.

She lived on the Isle of Skye and used her wit and charm to make money from local sailors. Blockading a water passage between the Isle and the mainland, she charged boats a fee to cross through.

When sailors caught on to her scam, they began sailing a longer route to avoid her fees. However, Saucy Mary did not want her business to die. She decided to throw in a bonus.

Saucy Mary realized that bare Scottish passion could entice sailors more than a solely shorter passageway. So, if a sailor came to pay the fee Saucy Mary would wish them well by flashing a little skin.

Stories surrounding Saucy Mary are legend, like most stories are that are told on the Isle of Skye. However, there is some truth to this tale—Scotland is truly a place to lose your inhibitions.

Today, Saucy Mary’s body is buried on top of a large mountain on the Isle. It is rumored that her saucy spirit still dwells on the island.

While I am not sure if Saucy Mary was the force behind my feelings on the Isle, I felt something truly liberating while being in the place where the wild Viking lived.

Pure highland air intoxicated my being and all sense of reality was lost. Sitting on the Isle of Skye in Scotland, I felt the magic of this place in a deep way. I looked at the unbelievable scenery, the water, the mountains, the people and the system of life. It seemed peaceful yet so alive, more vibrant than I expected. This fantasy world held me in its arms and provided a place apart from the normalcy and ordinary routine of home.

Loch Alsh sits still and untouched, an alluring site in the company of large mountains. A piece of wood floating near the shore creates a hint of movement. Ripples in the water radiated a mysterious quality and reminded me of Loch Ness I saw a few days earlier. Here I was not looking for a monster to rise from the loch but something did appear to be living within these waters—a mystery and a call for the spontaneous.

A wild romance whispers through vast land but can be heard most clearly through voices of the people. Scottish cheers in the pub, couples laughing in the streets and conversations lasting long into the night.

I stayed at a hostel named after Saucy Mary and spent most of my night in the adjoining pub.

Sitting among my tour group and Scottish locals, I participated in the chatter and fun. I watch as people unleash a holiday attitude and let the atmosphere wash over them.

Live music entices a couple at the bar to bring the floor alive with dancing. More people join in as the night goes on and the music swells among conversation. Soon talking and singing goes hand in hand and the night sounds like a joyous melody.

Bodies twirl in ecstasy. Lips drink liberally. A game of Never Have I Ever breaks out at my table.

Ladies who never have more than two drinks were taking shots and smiled a little looser than usual. Scottish men swoon American women and enjoyed each others company. Fears and troubles did not exist here. The structure of life seemed like a mere figment of imagination. Feelings of love and happiness floated here.

This was not a sloppy night at the bar or a hippy festival gone wild. This atmosphere indeed embodied a carefree disposition and a liberal attitude, but somehow the night remained charming and classy.

Somehow the desolate beauty protected the wild actions of everyone there. Deep Scottish Love was a strong enough power to captivate and nurture a few scandalous actions. Scandal was not scandal here, instead it was the way of the land—the magic spell cast on all who came. It is impossible to resist.

The music died out, but the party attitude lasted through the night. People split their separate ways to socialize with new friends or kiss the lips of a charming face. The night was wild, but fun. No one went to bed without a smile—no regrets, only saucy Scottish love.

The air is the purest, the scenery is the grandest, the people are the friendliest, and the pubs are the liveliest here. It is no doubt that people cannot help to be a little saucy when they visit.

Before the night is over, I take another breath of highland air outside. In the window, an outline of a young woman can be seen. Her topless figure flirts with outside eyes but disappears into the darkness of her room, taken in by deep Scottish love and a wild spirit that she cannot explain.

Back in London

2009-06-06T06:49:00.000-07:00

I just arrived back in London after a traveling on a Wild and Sexy Haggis bus tour through Scotland. I'll be posting more later! Back to the states tomorrow!

Leaving for Scotland

2009-05-30T22:37:00.000-07:00

In a few hours I will be heading to Scotland-- a new adventure. I will be there for a week. Unfortunately, I will not have Internet access, a laptop, or even a phone.

I'll put up blogs when I get back!

Bye for now!

Sounds of the Underground

2009-05-30T04:40:00.000-07:00

Along with suited men and women, Stephen Daly stepped on the tube like he does every day for the morning commute, but Stephen was not wearing a suit and he was not planning on getting off the tube for quite a few hours. Dressed in a red t-shirt and jeans, he was ready for the day. He, along with his friend Ben stood center on the underground car with a mandolin and a violin.

This is their office and work was about to begin. Legs spread and balanced, Daly clocked in and took hold of his instrument.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen, I’m Steve and this is Ben,” Daly said. “We are going to play you a song. So, grab your partner and dance in a clockwise direction to avoid congestion.”

Daly’s glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as his baldhead bobbed up and down with the strum of his mandolin. Ben accompanied with a quick fiddle.

Some people stare and smile, others pretend he is not there. No one dances. However, that does not stop the music. Daly, with an Irish charm, plays an upbeat tune with a lively attitude. Ben accompanies on violin with a wink and a smile.

They finish the song in a few minutes.

Applause.

“Thank you,” Daly said. “You guys were better than the last car.”

The next song is a waltz.

The cars doors open and announce South Kensington station. The tube operators voice interrupts for only a second. They finish their song right on time. Daly knows this tube and the stations. He has been doing this for quite awhile, 25 years to be exact.

Daly introduces his last song, always a fast one. He points to a little bag hanging off of his mandolin.

“See this pouch here, I’m going to go around for this last song,” he said. “If you don’t want to give or if you feel uncomfortable with social situations, just pretend we aren’t here.”

He dances around the car playing a merry tune while sweat drips off of his brow. Ben is a little younger than Daly and shows off a youthful performance, whipping his wrist back and forth with the slide of his bow. His sunglasses hang off of his striped polo shirt as he follows Daly around the car.

Several people toss change into the bag. One man dressed in a blue button-down shirt even throws in £5.

Three songs and three tube stops is all visitors may see of Daly but this is his full-time job. He and Ben work from morning until night playing tunes, hoping from car to car with a cheerful routine.

Daly grew up in Dublin, Ireland but fell in love with London years ago. He came after planning a visit with friends and never left.

He tells passengers that he “came to London for a romantic weekend, a weekend that lasted 25 years.”

A rough face shows a little of his story while his personality and occupation reveals his spontaneous side.

Living in London, Daly needed a way to make money. He used a little Irish creativity and looked underground instead of above for a decent salary.

He found that while many people make money targeting similar consumers, he could reach all types of people playing on the London Underground.

The tube provides transportation for millions of Londoners. According to the Transport for London, 2007 marked the first year the tube carried one billion passengers. Since then, the tube has been the object of much conversation and improvement. People of all levels realize that the transportation system is a heavily used and significant resource.

While the sun peaks through the clouds on another overcast day, it would be foolish to think that simply walking London streets will radiate the essence of the area. Below is where the heart of London rushes, swipes, minds the gap, sits, smiles, sleeps, talks or is silent, breathes and even performs a daily routine.

The doors open and reveal an individual group of Londoners. Each stop brings a new flavor and smell. People coming on the tube in Camden looked a little edgier than those at South Kensington. They talk a little more and a little louder and dress a little flashier.

Diversity stands together, mashed into a speeding cylinder. Hot, humid, and uncomfortable, the tube is the literal container for all sorts of London personalities.

Daly balances well among the crowd.

For him, the tube is not just a means of travel from one place to another, it is a place all on its own. It is a way to reach people of all ages and occupations, of all financial statuses and backgrounds.

As he and Ben step off the last car, his music silences for the day.

“Thank you,” he said.

London is...

2009-05-27T09:02:00.000-07:00

With my oversized backpack and stuffed carry-on I travelled to London. I did not know what to expect. All anyone ever really told me was that the weather was terrible and I need to be prepared. So, I came with too many outfits looking for adventure and looking to discover the gems that lie under the fog and rainclouds.

You know what? The weather is terrible here. As I walked around the city last night in a dress and scarf, goosebumps covered my body and I shook in the frigid air.
London is rainy and changeable and gloomy.

Even one of our tour guides had a song about the rainy weather:

   Weather is not all that is bland around here. After ordering several dishes of London food, I realized that the food is pretty boring too--nothing is really satisfying. Food is bland, lifeless, spiceless, and dull. The Fish and chips have never met my expectations since I got here. The dish looks impressive. The fish is huge and the fries look descent, but after taking a few bites, I get bored. The fish taste soon blends with the chips and soon I just feel like I’m eating some type of all potato mash.
   Yesterday I specifically sought out a meal that would be bold. “Where is the excitement in these meals?” I said. I picked up a sandwich called “spicy chicken.” I was ready to be spiced up. Disappointment.
   The meat hit my taste buds with no reaction. Nothing. No spice. No nothing. Bland. Liars.
It is rainy, the food is boring, the days are gray, the living conditions are awful. I’m thinking about all of these things as I am trying to describe to you what London is to me. But, this is not what I’m trying to say.
   See, despite the poor hotdogs and shivery cold, London is the only place I want to be right now. London is my get away and my experience. London is exciting and I despite the boring attributes and the city closing at 11 p.m., London has produced some of my most lively memories of the year.
   As the days and nights go on, the cold is not so frigid. Somehow, blood starts circulating in my legs again and I’m ok. The weather does not seem to matter. I am taken in by the sites and the architecture, the accents and the people, the red buses and the tube.
   I walk and complain about how London should learn a few lessons from New York, the city that never sleeps—but, at the same time, I proclaim a love for London that I could not for the Big Apple.
   I walk around this city and hear people with accents from all over Europe. Today, I spoke with the man that works at the front desk of my dorm complex. He is half French and half Italian. His unusual accent captures me as he tells me of his love of Paris but his hate for Persians.
London has swept over me and drowned me in a culture I’ve never known. In the rainy mist and quiet bustle, there are flickers of light and explosions of excitement.

These sources of joy are different than what I am used too, but make life here all the more incredible.

   I sit in a pub and smile at the site of a bar full of men in suits and well-dressed women. This is not the American sports bar with obnoxious grungy people looking for some intoxicating feelings. London is proper. It knows how to look sharp. It knows how to act. It knows how to carry itself.
   London closes at 11 p.m. but maybe for good reason. Maybe it is just trying to be responsible.
   As for the fish and chips, I still think London may need to understand that spicing up your life really isn’t that dangerous.
   Anyway, the food needs a little improvement before I come back.

Food to Avoid

2009-05-25T15:18:00.000-07:00

Today, I ordered a hotdog from a vendor on the street--worst mistake ever. It looked like a hotdog, but looks are deceiving.

It was like eating some type of blended mush, far from meat...more like a vegan mixture gone wrong.

Gross.

Hyde Park

2009-05-24T13:30:00.000-07:00

Open green grass seems cluttered only with bodies, relaxed and in motion. Blankets color space between tall trees and active footballs spark interest among calm scenery. Visitors within Hyde Park each bring their own purpose, they embrace leisure and activity within this royal plot of nature to savor a few hours of outside enjoyment.

Unusually sunny weather welcomed a large crowd of visitors to the park yesterday. Strollers weaved their way through bicycles as people made their way towards the Wellington Arch on Hyde Park Corner. They came to enter a green palace of open spaces and sweet smelling flowers.

There is a place for everyone in Hyde Park—old or young, lovers or friends.

I spotted couples lying together under trees and by the water of the Serpentine while some lovers relaxed on benches within small gardens.

Other people, friends or families, came with food and wine to enjoy a lunch in the company of a beautiful environment. Some people even shared their afternoon sandwiches with woodland visitors that waddled close by.

The park is desirable for many people because of its diverse recreational opportunities such as boating, swimming and rollerblading.

Rows of small orange cones decorate some walkways and usually signal that a set of rollerblades will be appearing shortly. Weaving through cones help bladers improve skills and Hyde Park seems like a perfect area to practice.

One man that I observed looked especially dedicated to the sport. Shirt off, dressed only in jeans and blades, he speed through the cones on one leg like a swift thread through fabric. His precision was amazing.

Do not be frightened though, all bladers in the park are not all of professional quality. In fact, many beginners take lessons in the park and can be seen practicing alongside experienced skaters all the time.

One specific group of fun-seekers I saw were learning a strange looking version of rollerblading. They looked like they were participating in some type of cross-country ski rollerblading. Their rollerblades were extended like skis and they had poles they were pushing off with. Most looked a little wobbly, but smiling faces showed that a fun time was being had by most.

When visitors become parched from the activities of the day, they can stop by a café like the Serpentine bar & kitchen for a drink or they can grab a cool treat from the small vendors in the park. They can even dip their feet in a path of fresh water.

Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain is a refreshing and attractive site that I thought was worth seeing. Water ripples down small hills and flows in a circle that is extraordinarily tempting to small children.

Little legs splash and kick around in the water memorial. A little girl dressed in only her underwear looked like she was having a great time wading around in a little waterfall.

She was kindly asked to sit on the side; according to park regulations visitors are not to walk on the Memorial. However, upon observation, I realized that this seems to be a rule nearly impossible to follow. It appears that these children embrace a lively spirit close to that of Princess Diana that will live on through their own interpretation of royal rules.

While in the area of Hyde Park there was another royal destination that I was sure not to miss.

As I walked on the wide paths that curved through the parks, gardens colored my journey. The smell of sweet peonies dances through the air as honeysuckle entices a travel further. Soon, I found myself in Kensington Gardens.

Kensington Gardens used to be considered part of Hyde Park but now stands alone as its own royal park. The flowers—roses, carnations, bearded irises, and more—are a beautiful site to see, but one of the most popular attractions, especially for children, is the statue of Peter Pan.

I witnessed a group of kids check out the statue, Pan mounted on a pedestal of nature images and posed figures. One boy seemed particularly interested in climbing up the statue, thinking of himself as a figure of Peter Pan—mischievous but accomplished. After climbing the statue he realized that his friends had lost interest and moved onto another part of the park.

He ran so fast, it seemed like he was flying.

After all of my time at and around Hyde Park, I realized that while the nature, the gardens, and the statues add to the lure of the area, there is something that the park could not be without. People, whether they are splashing in royal fountains or rollerblading through the gardens, appear to be the life and breath of Hyde Park.

Check it out

2009-05-23T14:04:00.000-07:00

Touch

2009-05-22T00:23:00.000-07:00

Feel London. Touch the walls of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, sit in the seat that Charles Dickens frequented at the Cheshire Cheese pub and run your fingers over the old and new architecture mashed together in the City of London. Textures allow this place to come alive and radiate not only a history of London, but the true makeup of its people.

St. Paul’s Cathedral

St. Paul’s Cathedral is an iconic symbol of the city of London. Despite many tries by Germany to crumble the church during World War II, the walls stood strong because of the extreme precautions and efforts the people took to protect it. The cathedral is a symbol of hope that radiates through the building and is felt by simply standing near its walls.

The outer layer rough walls are spotted with small craters that serve as remnants of the past war. Recently, the outer walls were cleaned to expose the naked scars left on the church from shrapnel. London wants to make clear that this church went through battle and suffering like everyone else did at that time, but it is one of the few that remains standing.

Londoners made sure that it would never crumble. In fact, during the war, volunteers strapped themselves to the top of the church to extinguish incoming bombs that may damage the structure.

Running my hands over the wounds in the side of the cathedral allowed me to understand why Londoners, past and present, look at the building in a loving way.

Cheshire Cheese pub

The Cheshire Cheese pub is a pretty cool place. Charles Dickens, Mark Twain and Samuel Johnson frequented the pub.

I sat in the seat that Charles Dickens often drank. I ran my fingers over the wood that witnessed the beginnings of creative writings important to our culture. The hard seat seemed barely comfortable enough to pour out a classic novel.

I touched the wall that the original draft of The Tale of Two Cities hung proudly. How remarkable— one of the greatest books of all time is not being preserved in a museum, but a pub!

Pubs are where it all starts in London, they are the community meeting place and observe much of what is happening here.

Since I have been here we have eaten in several pubs and seen the activity that goes on there. Throughout the weekdays, working people—usually men dressed in fine suits—eat and drink, socializing with friends there.

They are not like American bars. No one appears drunk and sloppy. The interior is cozy, warm and classy. People do not come to get wasted or be loud. Yes, most of them carry a beer, but it seems more like a beverage here and less like a device for mischief.

Big Ben

2009-05-21T00:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I visited Big Ben. Honestly, it really is not so big. I had to weave around the streets to get a good picture of it because most of the time it appears hidden behind trees.

Also, I learned that the name Big Ben does not refer to the clock, but rather to the bell hanging above the clock.

The Shape of London

2009-05-20T15:52:00.000-07:00

Cylinders stand tall and round, strong and of use. They hold up royal buildings; yet, they also hold trash in Green Park. Most notably, they are the shape of the 20-pound hats that the guards wear at Buckingham Palace. Throughout the day, I learned about the importance of these objects.

Changing of the guard

We arrived at Buckingham Palace this morning only to see the guards wearing a different uniform that we expected. Their outfits were dark and unexciting. Ryan said that they must have changed the uniform. I was outraged—Not only did they ditch the red coats, but where the heck were their giant furry hats?! Instead, the men wore hats closely resembling a burgundy beret.

Wait—do I see what I think I see?

All of the sudden, large black hats emerge from behind. Men in red coats march to the gates. I broke a big smile. There they are, my symbol of London—tall, heavy cylindrical hats.

The idea of the hats seems silly: huge, weighted and hairy accessories sitting on the heads of stern men. However, somehow seeing these hats in person, straight and balanced in formation, make them appear important and necessary.

These men stand like statues and their hats accentuate their stature.

I stood beside of several guards today and barely noticed them breathing. A natural human quality is replaced with a almost architectural appearance. Their uniforms complete with boots and hat make them seem like a pillar erected from the ground. They possess a rooted immoveable quality.

I posed beside of the men like every other tourist does that passes through the area, but I felt a little disrespectful. Their job is dutiful and of high regard in London. They protect royalty daily; yet, visiting the area, I think that they stand as mere tourist attractions and entertaining accessories to the city.

Sometimes tourists taunt and swarm them so much that they cannot even complete their scheduled march. I can’t help to think they must hate us.

Trashcans

Bubblicious gum is a definite favorite of mine, but anyone who chews it knows that the delicious sweet taste is gone three minutes after putting it into your mouth. The later happened to me and I began searching for a trashcan to get rid of the tasteless blob.

What appeared to be a simple task soon turned into a mission impossible. We were walking around Westminster in London and there were no trashcans. None.

I walked down Whitehall for miles and still no trashcans. What do these people do, eat their litter?

Soon, Ryan asked us if we noticed anything unusual about this road. Apparently, there truly are no trashcans on Whitehall. This was done purposefully because the Irish Republican Army (IRA) used to plant bombs in the trashcans.

I thought this was a really interesting fact. Londoners just got rid of the trashcans plain and simple. I think that if something like that happened in America we would just build titanium bomb-proof trashcans. We wouldn’t compromise convenience just because someone is out to get us. Afterall, we would see the change as a weakness. However, Londoners see it as just smart.

Have a problem? Trash it.

The best day of my life

2009-05-20T14:28:00.000-07:00

Today, I saw the Queen of England. NO JOKE.

I SAW THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND. Yes. It is true.

We were watching the changing of the guards ceremony--which was boring, very boring. So, we decided to leave. As we made our way over to cross the street, a stern guard would not let us cross. Naturally, most of us got a little agitated.

Then, all of the sudden the Queen's car comes rolling up beside of us. Truth. Truth. Truth. She came up so fast that we were all so in shock no one grabbed their camera.

We waved like goofy tourists. She waved back : )

Did I mention we saw the QUEEN OF ENGLAND?

London Red

2009-05-20T01:14:00.000-07:00

From the buildings to the transportation, London is red. The color shows proudly on the coats of royal guards as they stand paralyzed and patriotic for their country. Old bricks reflect a rustic burgundy that holds firm the history of the city. Rich scarlet blood spilled on the land soaks the past and remains in the present through the stories of beefeaters and historians.

Red flows through the streets of London. The buses are red, the phone booths are red and the faces of confused tourists are red.

I am foreigner traveling through London; yet, red has already tainted my experience in the city.
From the moment the other students and I landed, red greeted us and carried us forward. After we stepped off of the plane, Ryan’s red hair caught the attention of our five jetlagged faces. He stood near baggage claim, giving us a warm welcome which we had no energy to reciprocate. In his hand was a Flip video camera. A blinking neon red light gave evidence that he captured the sad scene.

Carrying large backpacks and wheeling heavy luggage, we never thought we would recover. The seven-hour flight across the pond left our eyes blood-shot and itchy. We moved slowly.
I walked alongside the rest of the group in the direction the tube (London’s version of the subway). Ryan retrieved our temporary one-day passes as we made exhausted and amusing conversation with each other.

Faded cherry colored the passes. This red is the access card to the life of a Londoner.
We stood in line to enter the tube. We stood some more. We stood a while longer. Something was not working. A red neon X that lighted the entry sign did not seem very positive. Indeed, the ticket machines decided to stop working.

Out of one of the few acts of London kindness, the man behind the gates allowed everyone to enter without swiping their ticket. We moved forward. Soon, I along with my 30-pound backpack, were smashed into a seat on the very cozy tube.

Ryan attempted to amuse us with London history and our day’s itinerary. Our blank stares and jetlagged faces were the most energy we could muster to meet his efforts.

The English accent heard over the tube speakers announced our stop. We sauntered out and moved our bodies towards the gates while being told to “mind the gap” (last year over thirty injuries occurred on the tube because people got stuck in the gap between the tube and the platform).

We started what seemed like a very long walk to the Ithaca London Center. After meeting and having tea with the staff there, we entered our lives as Londoners. We had to find transportation to check in at our flat.

We had to catch a bus. The two-stacked buses radiate a classic red, vibrant and exciting. My eyes moved to the top of the four-wheel creature, enticed by the upper stack of seating. I suddenly felt a shot of energy. We swiped our card and climbed the stairs to the top.

Something was a little strange about this bus though. It was packed but there was no hustle or bustle. More specifically, there was no conversation. No one was talking. Everyone sits silently on the buses here.

Then, I spotted two fire engine-red telephone booths. There was no one inside either of them.
Itching for my cell phone ever since my landing, I realized that new rules for conversation apply here.

A bright color inspires distinctive isolation. Londoners differ in this way from Americans who appear to be loud and connected at all times.

In London, Red is focused and controlled, purposeful and bold.

Apples and Pears

2009-05-19T15:35:00.001-07:00

Monday

I arrived in London around 9:30 a.m. Ryan and Michael met the students and I at the airport after we stepped off the plane. Then, they proceeded to drag our exhausted bodies around the city for the remainder of the day.

Most of the day was a blur. Jet lag is a horrendous sickness. I do remember having breakfast and tea with the head of the Ithaca London Center, Bill. He has worked here for quite a few years and seems extremely knowledgeable about the area.

Another interesting fellow I met during my first day here was Fred who works at the London Center with Bill. He is an older gentleman who talks in circles of English jargon. I can't understand most of what he is saying, but he is hillarious. Soon he had everyone using all sorts of funny phrases. For example, calling the stairs "apples and pears" is appropriate here--because it rhymes?

Next, we unloaded the luggage. We took a lift up to our flat (We took an elevator up to our dorm).

Something I quickly learned is that everything in London is pretty cozy. My roommate Rachel and I lucked out and have a room with bunked beds which gives a little more room than most.

Flat problems so far:

*Lack of Internet access

*Temperamental toilet flusher (which looks like a handle stuck on the wall)

*Strange bathroom fan that sounds like a dying cat

*Electricity that turns off whenever it feels necessary

We ended the day with a night out on the town.

Tuesday

This morning Rachel and I woke up at 7 a.m. After a quick coffee run, we met up with the rest of the group and boarded the two-stack bus heading back to the Ithaca London Center. Class was at 9:30 a.m. We arrived early, and were very proud we found our way so easily. After a lecture

from Ryan and Michael, we headed to the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge (commonly known as the London Bridge).

The day was full of London history. I’ll update more later—for now, Ryan has got me working on an assignment.

Cheers. (compliments of Seth)

I HAVE INTERNET!

2009-05-19T12:40:00.000-07:00

I have not had access to the Internet or phone since I arrived in London. The network just started working in our flat. I'll be posting an update on what I've been up to asap.

Heading Out

2009-05-17T05:05:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday. I am 19.

This morning I woke up around 6:30 to finish packing the last of my things. I haven't lifted my full backpack yet and frankly I'm a little afraid to. Not knowing what type of weather to expect, I tried to pack clothes for every condition. Plus, a ton of random extras are thrown in there too. I am almost positive that I have at least three travel toothbrush cases. They keep getting eaten by my backpack so I keep adding more thinking they aren't there.

I will be leaving for BWI airport in a few hours. From there, I will fly to JFK. Then, off to London.

New Travels

2009-05-16T08:23:00.000-07:00

Tuesday night I rolled into my driveway with two cars packed full of books, bedding and everything else I pulled out of my dorm. My finals are over. I took my tests and wrote my 37-page Journalism Research paper. My first year of college is over. Now I’m trading my textbooks in for power adaptors, tennis shoes and pounds. I’m heading to London and my backpack looks a little larger than last week.

I will be participating in a Travel Journalism course that spans three weeks. Our group will travel around London and Scotland, looking at sites and learning how to write about them. I will be updating this blog on my adventures.

I leave tomorrow.