Vietnam.

Reflections from Day 1. October 30, 2008.

“Good morning, Vietnam!”

As we go up the river…it looks like Vietnam… muddy trenches weave through saggy palms. The water is brown and the land is green, very green. At this point, my movie morphed imagination taints reality. A scene from Across the Universe flashes before me. It is as if I can actually see and hear the underwear clad soldiers carrying the Statue of Liberty. They are coming towards the bank, the ship, my window. I am reminded that my freedom is an envied commodity in this land. Cargo ships closely pass by. Fishermen dot the banks. Thatched roofs poke up from the lush green blanket. As the ship docks, a row of young, traditionally dressed Vietnamese women hold a banner that reads, “Semester at Sea, Welcome to Vietnam.” They smile and welcomingly wave, unconsciously representing the young nation, forgetting the past and focusing on the future. Visiting parents hang over the railing, camera in one hand and posters in the other. The absence of my family makes my return so much sweeter. Here we are, another country. Where has the time gone?

Traffic. 8.5 million people in Ho Chi Min City. 8 million motorbikes. The blurring swarm of helmet-heads makes the taxi lined streets of NYC look like a walk in the park.
Crossing the street in HCMC is an adrenaline rush that results in pain or accomplishment. Walk slowly and deliberately. My fist crossing was as if I were frozen in time as the rest of the world continued to swirl around me. I could hear nothing but my heavy breathing and multiplied heartbeat. I could see nothing but my point of destination. I was in a tunnel of time. It was like that scene in West Side Story where Tony and Maria see each other for the first time at the dance. They move in slow motion, while the dance carries on. Don’t run across the street. You are more likely to be hit. The bikes will move around you. No time is a good time. One way streets go both ways. Red lights are optional, and sidewalks are not only for pedestrians. Strategy, determination, training, patience, and agility…Vietnam street crossing should be a sport. You win or you lose.

As much as I would like to think the conical, rice-leaf hats are a means of identifying tourists, I must admit I have been proven wrong. Locals wear these hats outside of the rice fields. Ladies as old as Ms. Gobel and as nimble as Mrs. Seely shuffle down the streets, their faces hidden by a mini-thatched hat and their shoulders heavy with balancing baskets of produce. They are too numb to feel the weight that they carry.

There are no puddles of piss, just an occasional arrangement of ancestral offering and burnt incense. The white skin of expats and travelers, turns the attention off of us... a rare relief. I like it here. I often wonder about the stories of the foreigners I pass. Oh, how I want the excitement, challenge, independence, and humility of living in a foreign land. Visiting is bittersweet. It is a sampler plate: either you are thankful you did not get a full order, or you soak it all up and wish there was more…more time, more resources, more discovery, and more funding. Next time, I will know what to order, where exactly to go.

Return to Normalcy...

Hopefully, my delayed posts have only built suspense and not led you to a disappointed dead end of world andventure. After India, the time between ports was measured in blinks. I wish I had a better, more acceptable excuse as to why I have not efficiently updated my blog. There were no pirates or rouge waves. I just ran out of time... and internet minutes.

Now, I am back in America. It is all so surreal. I am still trying to process what happened this past semester. I went around the world?! I don't know what I feel or what I think. All I know is that I want to do it again...all of it.

In an effort to escape the norms of society, I will continue to share the remainder of my adventures. Not only will I write to maintain my memories, but I will write in hopes that you will surrender to your imagination, abandon the comfort of your world, and book a flight (or cruise) to anywhere...

Malaysia.

One word…Penang. You can experience all of Asia in only one stop. I consider Malaysia the melting pot of the east. Tori and I had only one plan for this port and that was to relax. Midterms and India left us physically, spiritually, and emotionally exhausted. Our spontaneous agenda featured a variety of temples, the state art gallery, chocolate and coffee boutiques, street markets, the Tropical Spice Garden, hawker stands, spicy food, mass transit, and free internet (which is a big deal when you are living in the middle of the ocean).

This port was inconveniently unique in that we had to tender from the ship to the actual port. “Tendering” in nautical land, is the process of transporting passengers from an anchored vessel to land, via lifeboats. Like anything else new, this process was fun…the first time. Two rotating 100-passenger boats running every hour on the dot teaches flexibility, timeliness, and preparation.

I met Kristina’s parents (from Alaska). Her dad attended boarding school in Penang when he was in intermediate and high school, so twenty years later he and his wife returned to meet up with their daughter. They were very warm and welcoming. Tori and I tagged along with them to a traditional klan house, the snake temple (yes, there were really live snakes just hanging around the shrines), and lunch at a hawker stand (a neighborhood of street vendors that cook cheap, traditional, hot meals on the spot). I broke a rule…I ate the street food…and I liked it!

On our second day of fearless exploration, we mastered the system of public transportation. Taxi drivers hike up their fares whenever they realized I wasn’t a local (I have no idea what gave that one away…) and walking is a frustrating and exhausting option. For only a matter of pennies, we could ride the air-conditioned bus, people watch, see the island, and get to where we wanted to go. The magic of the Malaccan Strait and the Indonesia trade route came to life as we hiked trough the botanical jungle of the Tropical Spice Garden. For dinner, Tori and came across a restaurant that we could simply not pass up…Spicy Girl. Yes, please! This place was made for us Texans. It was a “hot-pot” joint. Boiling pots of flavored broth are set on burners in the center of the table. We dumped noodles, dumplings, bamboo chutes, fish cubes, and tofu into the spicy soup. Mouthwatering. After dinner, we had coffee at a neighboring locally owned shop. Not only was the Malaysian coffee good, but the company was absolutely exceptional. The owner, Tigun, had spent the last 25 years doing light designs for Broadway. He recently retired to Penang so that he and his expecting wife could be close to their families while creating their own. They welcomed us with open arms, shared travel stories, and helped us find our way around the island. In fact, the shop became our “home base” throughout the rest of our stay…not to mention, their free internet was a blessing!

Penang has quite the collection of religious sites….Chinese ancestral shrines, Hindu temples, Buddhist temples, mosques, churches, and Taoist temples. The Kek Lok Si Temple was hands down the most impressive. In fac,t it is one of the largest Buddhist temple complexes in Southeast Asia and is reputed to be one of the most beautiful too. There seems to be no fine lines separating religions from one another. It is what you make it. Take what you want…religion – a la carte. Personally, I think of it as religious polygamy…How do you fully serve, love, obey, trust, and follow more than one god?

I also had a chance to try my hand at batiking, a technique of printing fabric using wax and colorful dyes. This elaborate art is a prominent symbol of the Malaysian culture. This method of resist dye is easily recognizable and I am sure you have seen it before…and if not, you can check out my handmade handkerchief! This opportunity reminded me of the strands of history, passion and pride and that are woven between the threads of textiles.

Our last night in grand ol’ Malaysia was declared “America Night.” Do not be quick to judge. My motives are creditable…red meat and Troy Bolton. Shelby (who remind me so much of Alyssa “Crunchy” Laurich), Tori and I ate at Chili’s and saw High School Musical 3. Ah! So good. Nothing beats watching a Disney masterpiece in a theater full of Chinese and Malay 10-year-olds. The 3^rd one was, hands down, my favorite. (Partially because it was in Malay and Cantonese subtitles!)

Sunday morning, my last day in Malaysia, was very special. After such a refreshing experience at Hilsong in South Africa, I wanted to make it a point to go to church around the world. Tori and I had breakfast overlooking the ocean and then took a taxi to the Wesley Methodist Church of Penang. Excitement, warmth, and love engulfed my every inch within my first step into to the foyer. Sunday school, VBS registration, alter guild, potluck lunch in the family center…it was all the same. We were led to the English contemporary service. We rocked out to Prince of Peace and Here I Am, Lord. The best part of the service was the group of 45 who were signing along with the songs and prayers. We were just in time for the kickoff celebration of the Ministry to the Hearing Impaired. It didn’t matter where we came from, what we looked like, or what we sounded like. We were all children of the same God. I felt as though the deaf congregation could hear God better than I could. Their hope and passion was so encouraging and refreshing.

Here are our prayers:

“Pray for Malaysia. The political situation continues to be in a state of flux and uncertainty. Pray for the Lord to have mercy upon us as a nation, and restrain all those who are bent on violence and turmoil, selfishness and greed. Pray too for the people and all political parties to look beyond their own communal advantages and work for the welfare of all-regardless of race or religion. Pray especially that this country will use our resources to improve the quality of life for all these people.”

“We are still receiving news on the persecution of Christians in different parts of India. Pray for the Indian government to do whatever is necessary to put an end to this kind of persecution and to protect the rights and the lives of their own citizens. Pray especially for the Christians there and that they may remain strong in the face of suffering and remain faithful witnesses to the Gospel and the Lord Jesus Christ.

This prayer request hit home for me. I had been in India only a week earlier. I had read about the Christian persecutions in the newspaper, and now it was obvious just how alive and connected the body of Christ truly is. Christianity exists outside of the Sunday school classrooms and the Friday morning breakfast Bible studies. This is bigger than our comfort zone. This community is worldwide, and just as the Malays pray for the Christians in India, we must remember that the vastness of God’s creation expands beyond the white picked fences of the United States. Please pray for our brothers and sisters around the world, and may the lost be found.

Land of Contrasts

India.

A country of contradictions,

A feast for all senses,

Beautifully disgusting,

An empty crowd,

Peaceful commotion,

A modernized past,

An unreal reality.

Try to imagine a country one third the size of America with a population of over a billion. In the pre-port lectures and diplomatic briefing, I was told, “Whatever you say about India, the reverse is also true.”

To be continued...

long over due...

Please forgive the tardiness. It seems as though I may have been distracted by the quest for knowledge…better known as “midterms”. South Africa is like Disney World…it has everything! My mere collection of words and display of pictures does not do such a fine nation justice; however, I do hope you find the highlights of my African adventure entertaining.

Robben Island is to Cape Town as The Sixth Floor Museum is to Dallas. I need a frequent-visitor punch card. Strolling through the photo gallery, flipping through the periodicals, and exploring the prison (including the cell where Nelson Mandela served 18 out of his 27 years behind bars) all my apartheid studies came to life. I don’t think I will ever fully comprehend how truth and reconciliation retracted such a time of hatred. I’ve become infatuated with the works of the Archbishop Desmond Tutu. If you are looking for an easy and inspirational book, check out God Has a Dream by Desmond Tutu himself!

Tori, Jewel, and I also explored Table Mountain, which is argued to be the world’s oldest mountain. The panoramic view of Cape Town from 1086m up is indescribable. The market shopping was endless, and I even came across some treasures in a vintage shop (go figure!). As for the food…where do I begin?! Naturally, the seafood was to die for, but I also ventured to try kudu, ostrich, springbok, zebra, and gazelle. Mama Afrika was my favorite restaurant. Dim lights, painted murals, paper lanterns, live Africa jazz, and good company made for a great dinner and an even better memory.

On Sunday, Tori, Kristina (from Alaska), and I went to church at Hillsong-Cape Town. God is so good. The Hillsong Church began in Australia-I’m sure you know there music too! We went to the evening service. The energy was crazy. It was one big party for God. Nothing beats contemporary worship with a British-Dutch-Australian accent! The sermon was just what I need to hear too. It was about getting off the comfortable Christian couch, stepping away from the supervisor’s work chair, and getting into the game. Being on a ship with a small Christian community and visiting places where poverty and corruption taint God’s creation, it is easy to get stuck in the “reserved seating” section of life. No more sitting on the sidelines. The world is our field. We’ve got to get our hearts in the game. No more watching and telling people about the struggle in front of us. It is time to stir things up, change the pace and ultimately change the outcome. Please pray with me that Christians (no matter where they are) will let go of the fear and hesitation of change. This game of life is a contact sport, and we’ve got the greatest coach. Let’s play!

My African experience would not have been complete without a traditional safari! Two hours outside of Johannesburg, sits the Pilanesburg Game Reserve which is centered on the ancient crater of a dormant volcano! The park is made up of predominantly hillside, savannah grasslands, and semi-woodlands. It was Planet Earth in real life. The 140,000 acre park has the highest concentration of rhino per square kilometer of any park in Africa. On our first drive, we saw zebras, giraffes, wildebeests, springbok, impala, jackal, the brown hyena, elephants, lions, and rhinos! I must clarify…by “saw” I mean visible without binoculars…these animals were only yards away. My guide was the best! Day two started with a sunrise drive on which we came across the endangered black rhino, an elephant breeding ground, and a leopard! The leopard sighting was a BIG deal. My (all girl) 4X4 was the only group to see a cat. Haley, our guide was so pumped-it was the first leopard she had seen in the last 4 months. Those stealthy cats are quick…and hard to photograph! The leopard is also one of Africa’s Big Five (lion, leopard, black rhino, elephant, and water buffalo.) After breakfast, a nap, a round of cards, lunch, and high tea, we went on a hippo search…and succeeded! On our last morning in the African bush, we came across the usual herd of giraffes, elephants, rhinos, and zebras; however, the lightening from the night before left a grass fire burning in the plains. Not to worry, the fire is a good thing- it is nature’s own method of control burning which allows for new vegetation to grow. The same morning we saw water buffalo. My perfect (and only) safari was complete. I saw all of the Big Five!

Leaving Cape Town was bittersweet. Spending a week in South Africa, reminded me of how hard it is to leave comfort and familiarity, but at the same time the curiosity of what else is out there is so enticing. I have no doubt that I will be back to South Africa…hopefully for grad school or the 2010 World Cup- feel free to join me!

Leaving South Africa was our longest, toughest stretch on the water. Rounding the Cape brought crossing currents…which means we had to “secure our cabins”. Slamming drawers, falling books, and rolling water bottles can be dangerous. Have you ever gone to school for 11 days straight? It’s difficult-especially when you throw midterms, research papers, and synchronize swimming into the mix. Yep, that’s right I said synchronize swimming. The most notable ship-wide event also occurred in between continents…drum roll, please….The Sea Olympics! Each hall( or “sea”) competes collaboratively in hot dog eating, wheelbarrow racing, the human knot, boat making, travel jeopardy, Pictionary, Sudoku, a workout relay, yadda, yadda, yadda…and synchronize swimming! I live in the Mediterranean Sea. It just so happened that our team color was tie-dye and our mascot was a “dirty” hippie…of course, I was nominated to be the mascot. My daily wardrobe made the BEST costume. During the Opening Ceremonies, the other seas were so intense with war paint, obnoxious chants, and overrated sweatbands. We casually strolled in carrying guitars and flowers, singing “All We Need is Love.” We sat in Indian-style on the floor of the auditorium and followed the MC’s every word with a “save the planet” comment. People didn’t know how to take us and our peace signs. It was so funny! Tori (who stands tall at 5’3”), our neighbor Rob (a giant at 6’ 7”), Patrick ( who’s on his university’s water polo team), and my crazy self, proudly represented the Mediterranean Sea in the synchronize swimming category. Our performance was an absolute masterpiece-complete with head bobbing, the wave, blooming flowers, beached whales, the fountain, big spinning lifts…and Speedos. We were inspired by the movie, A Night at the Roxburry, and we had the perfect song, Haddaway’s “What is Love?” We knew we had something great…but just like any Olympic event, there was a scandal…the waters of the open ocean were so rough that the captain had to close the pool. NOOOOOO! The competition was moved to the auditorium. We made some adjustments to the routine and took the floor first. The crowd erupted with laughter and applause. We had it all-the costumes, choreography, comedy, creativity, difficulty - the works. Tori and I frolicked around with leggings under our once piece swimsuits, and the boys, straight-faced, danced in matching blue Speedos. It was classic. Unfortunately, our win was not enough to take our sea to the medal podium at the Closing Ceremonies, but we will forever be remembered as the dream team who dominated synchronized swimming…without any water.

And as for that distracting quest for knowledge, my performance was impressive, and now I anxiously await the adventures of a completely foreign land…India.

Namibia: Where the ocean meets the desert.

We hit a couple whales today. Not really, but it felt like it. The waters are bound to get rough as we head south.

Disclaimer: I will try my best to paint a vivid and accurate picture of life in Namibia, but the truth is, you should go ahead and book your flight. So, pull out the map, highlight the west coast of Africa, and give this hidden treasure some lovin’.

History? Check. Scenery? Check. Seafood? The best. Extreme sports? Absolutely! Affordable? Definitely.

I spent my second night in Africa under the stars…literally. I joined a group of about seventy SAS students on a camping trip in the Namib-Naukluft Park, one of the oldest and largest deserts in the world. Picture this: Tarzan and Jane’s campsite placed in front of the Lion King backdrop. We climbed the canyon’s walls and dug our toes into the pixie dust sand. After a gourmet dinner, we lounged around the campfire and waited for the evening skies to fully submit to the star studded darkness. Mosquito free. Pleasantly cool. No obligations. This was Africa.
A chorus of gentle humming grew louder as a shuffling train of 45 black Africans made their way through the luminary-lit campsite. Dressed in an array of traditional celebration clothing, the choir sang beautiful hymns of God’s beauty and generosity and African folk tales. The beat of the drum was faint. The rhythm of their steps in the sand was music in itself. They each made a different beat-box sound. Clicks, bird whistles, and deep water drop sounds put a smile on everyone’s face. The live Marimba music was entrancing. In English or Afrikaans…the message was the same. God is good.
Star gazing in the southern hemisphere was a little different then star hunting in the states. About 20 of us, the most adventuresome, drug our iron frame beds out of the tents and into the darkness. Lined up as if we were patients in a WWII hospital, we laid in awe. Shooting stars looked like dancing lasers. The Southern Cross took the place of the Big Dipper. Jupiter sparkled like a disco ball. It all looked so fake…like glitter on black construction paper. We stayed awake until the moon finally rose up from behind the cliffs. I so badly wish cameras could capture what exactly my eyes saw.
Swakopmund. Go there! It is a quirky little town that still looks like the German colony it once was…Namibia + Germany = good food, lots of shopping, and extreme sports. Sandboarding is my new love. I wish it were an Olympic sport. I would dominate! The dunes look like golden mountains of snow. No fear, I was first of the group to jump on the masonite board and slide down the 120m mountain at 80km/h! SO MUCH FUN! The jaw-dropping backdrop of golden dunes meeting the blue ocean, made the steep hiking worth it. I think I will move to Swakopmund and be a sandboarding instructor…forget the snow, this is tons better! I’ve got pictures and a DVD of this adventure, so plan for a viewing party in December. Dad, I think sand dunes would be a great addition to the new house. We’ve got the natural slope, and think about, you wouldn’t have to mow! Sand would be a great Christmas present…
Swakop made the perfect movie set…literally. The movie, The Prisoner, was being filmed in the open market. The 1950s set was amazing. The cast wore whites and tans. There were old Mercedes convertibles and buses. We sat on park benches and watched the filming. Who would have thought that in Namibia, a country of only 2 million people, I could stand on the edge of a movie set? I was barely 10 ft away from the actor who played Jesus in The Passion of the Christ.
Let’s talk food. Besides having the best seafood of my life, I also ate banana, garlic pizza, springbok, and I even tried Mopani worms and Oshifima porridge!
I spent my last day in Namibia in the township Kuisebmond, the “projects”. I visited a kindergarten, multi-purpose center, and community health center. Even though these people were still fighting poverty, Aids/ HIV, and aspects of the apartheid, they were hopeful and remained family centered.
Tomorrow we arrive in Cape Town. All of my classes have been focusing on the causes and effects of the apartheid. We’ve listened to Nelson Mandela’s and Desmond Tutu’s speeches. The readings have been powerful, and the lectures are passion filled.
Also, Mbeki, the prime minister of South Africa, resigned on Sunday. So I cannot wait to pick up a local paper in the morning. No worries, it is still a safe and stable country…it’s just making history.

Did you know:

Namibia is only 18 years old.
English is the official language of Namibia.
South Africa will be the home of the 2010 World Cup

Tot Siens! ( Goodbye in Afrikaans.)

Life on the Other Side of the Equator

“The world is a book and those who do not travel real only a page.”-St. Augustine

Oh man, where do I start?!

Reader’s digest version…no hurricanes, no pirates, and no seasickness! The first leg of the journey went swimmingly well. The MV Explorer arrived in Salvador, Brazil right on schedule, and now, we are on our way Namibia.

We were all stir-crazy by the time we finally got to Salvador. Nine days on a boat seemed like eternity, especially, since we were still in orientation mode. On September 5^th, we crossed the equator. The whole ship was exempt from classes in honor of Neptune Day. Neptune Day is celebrated by sailors when their vessel crosses the equator for the first time. The crew woke us with a percussion parade. Our professors greeted us on the pool deck dressed in mythological costumes. The festivities began with the captain shaving heads! As tempting as it was to escape the restraints of tangled hair, I opted for the second option…a shower of fish guts followed by a big wet kiss from a dead fish. (The shaved heads made it easy to spot SAS students on the streets of Salvador!) I am no longer a land-lover, but now a shellback.

As for my classes…all is well. I like my professors. They are all very unique and incredibly knowledgeable in their specific fields. There are only 8 people in my Local Religious and Food Systems class. The reading is heavy, but the discussions are great. I’m experiencing the best of both worlds. In my Relgion, Politics, and Society; Global Studies class, there are 380 student! My Music and Dance in World’s Religions class is focused on personal and spiritual growth. My religion professors from SMU have definitely prepared me well. So far, I have been able to hold my own in these comparative religion classes. My favorite class, hands down, in Global Textiles. (Go figure!) The textbook is beautiful and the assignments are all hands on. I have become quite the knitter!

Yes, the boat does rock, but not enough to faze me. Actually, I think the subtle sway just makes me sleepy. And yes, I study in my swimsuit and bask in the sun for countless hours while the cabana boy brings me Shirley Temples. Ha! This is school, not a leisure cruise, give me a break!

I’ve been adopted by the IT guru and his hippie wife. They both have long grey ponytails and wrinkles that tell of their worldly adventures. I also have two sisters and a brother. We eat dinner together about once a week. Oh! Oh! Oh! I almost forgot the highlight of my shipboard life. I have earned a position on the Voyage Book team. (aka-yearbook) I am the in-port photo editor. WOO HOO! I can only imagine how this opportunity will benefit my potential future in photojournalism.

Enough of the logistics…let’s get to the good stories- my first port!

Mouthwatering seafood, rich culture, colorful colonial architecture, and artistic dancing all mask the underlying corruption of Brazil. While Tori went to Rio, and my other friends went to the Amazon, I stayed in Salvador, the heart of the Afro-Brazilian district of Bahia. The cobblestone streets were flooded with vendors selling handmade jewelry, hammocks, paintings, etc. Traditionally dressed Candomblé women would tie prayer ribbons on our wrists. It was hard to pass the circles of locals playing capoeira. Capoeira is a dance that resembles fighting, require incredible strength, and features endless acrobatic tricks. These barefoot performers were so effortlessly graceful. Kids, teens, men and women will train in capoeira for years. I had an opportunity to go to a professional capoeira performance one evening-breathtaking. I consider it an “organic” Circ du’ Sole.

At night, percussion troupes would parade the streets, and we would follow along repeating the dances led by the locals. Afro-Brazilian dancing is not scandalous like American hip-hop and it isn’t as physically intimate as Latino dancing. It’s a mix of ballet, modern dance, and line dancing. Imagine the cast of Cool Runnings doing the choreography of West Side Story! I loved it! I could write about the dancing and the locals I made friends with for hours…but if I tell you everything now, no one will want to listen to me when I get back. HA! So, be sure to ask me about my nights of Brazilian dancing. The pictures are great too.

I spent one day in Cachoeira, a smaller colonial town set in the heart of the oldest farmlands in Brazil. It was the center of the sugar and tobacco booms that were the sources of the early wealth on the colony. My class visited an experimental cacao farm and toured the MST commune. This farming community originated as squatters and now is a part of the national popular movement for agrarian reform- “The Movement for Landless Peasants.”

Did you know??...

The best public universities in Brazil are free? Cool, huh? There’s a catch. Acceptance to the university is ridiculously competitive, and the good prepatory schools are incredibly expensive. Also, voting is mandatory for all citizens 18 and up and optional for 16 and 17 year olds. If you think our election process is flashy, deceiving, frustrating, or vague, you should check out the Brazilian way…

The people I encountered will forever hold a special place in my heart. I envy their passion, simplicity, and carefree pace of daily life.

Next stop, Africa-ca-caaaaa! I cannot wait! It is hard to refocus now that I’m back on the ship. It’s like having Spring Break every other week. I’ve made friends from all over-LA, Columbia, Venezuela, New York, and even Alaska.

My time on the internet is limited; however, I do have a free shipboard email account. Please keep my in your thoughts and prayers. I hope to do a better job blogging. mjmccall@semesteratsea.net

Ciao!

“Watch, stand fast in faith, be brave, be strong. Let all that you do be done with love.”

1 Corinthians 16:13-14.