2/19/2007- When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer (Amazon, Brazil)

I wish I could put into words how amazing it is to look up at the sky right now. I know I am good with words, but no writer cold do this night sky justice. There’s one poem that does to an extent; one that I will keep in my heart after tonight. “The Learn’d Astronomer”, I believe. He talks about an astronomy lecture and how uneasy it makes him due to the majesty of the stars outside—some things science can’t explain, and these stars are one of them.

Being in pitch black in the middle of the Amazon is, simply put since flourishing words cannot remotely grasp their majesty, the most amazing sight possible. I was getting changed on the back of our deck when I looked up—half naked, I was looking into Heaven itself. I’ve never seen so many or such bright stars as I looked at from my behind my hammock in that moment. For the first time I could see the color difference in each of the galexies and constelations, lines through the sky outlining different worlds and lives. There is no light from cities effecting the natural sights, the stars simply fade to the black of the trees, mixing sight in with the sounds of drums and singing from a village hidden among the dark smudges of horizon.

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,

When I was shown the charts, the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, When I sitting heard the learned astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture room,

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,

Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,

Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

-Walt Whitman

2/18/2007- Part of Life (Amazon, Brazil)

We woke up early the next morning and stared at the breakfast the hotel had provided for us—boiling milk, moldy bread and a yogurt dish that looked as though it was months old. I spent the last Real I had on water as I probably would have dropped dead of dehydration had I not gotten something that slightly resembled water into my system. A few hours later we were on our way to the boat we would be living on for the next three days—a walk through a ghost town, our guide explained, because everyone was still too far hungover and exhausted from the activities the night before to get up. The stores were all closed for Carnaval and confetti lined the streets, resembling a post-apocalyptic scene out of a black and white movie.

The boat we were on was absolutely enthralling, though not for the reasons that you may think. It only had two floors, one of which being the floor taken over by hammocks and the other for the family that ran the boat, the guides, the kitchen, bathroom, and table for food. It was the most rudimentary yet indescribably perfect setting for our Amazon trip. Anyone who has not slept in a hammock in the blazing heat with mosquitoes carrying yellow fever and malaria swarming around while listening to the far off drumbeats of indigenous people’s rituals late into the night has not truly experienced the Amazon. Sure, there are hotels and larger boats. Sure, we were caught in a tourist path on the river. But none of that seemed to matter when the fifteen of us just lay there listening to life all around us. Never before have I felt so small or so much a part of something in my life than while I looked out over the Amazon River.

2/18/2007- Flight (Manaus, Brazil)

On our way to Manaus we had a layover in Brasilia before leaving for the longer leg of the flight. I sat next to an older Portuguese-Brazilian woman and a young Brazilian-Spanish man, and through much confusion and translation we had an amazing conversation—I spoke in broken Spanish to the man, who in turn translated what I said to the woman. They were both terribly excited to learn about the education system in the US as their education system is vastly different (the university is free for most, and if it isn’t it is pretty darned close to it). After a while when we got comfortable and all the talks about home and family were out of the way, I bluntly asked about their perception of the US and its people in general. The man talked about how he thought Michael Moore was absolutely correct and Bush deserved to rot in hell, whereas the woman was far more eloquent in her wording if not her opinions.

They then turned the question around—what did we learn about Brazil in school? It was hard for me to tell them that we had only learned the bad things about Brazil—the crime rates, the homeless children, and the racism hidden from the world. They were shocked to hear this, they explained, because they didn’t see these things as major problems in Brazil. After that they asked to see my passport and license as they are vastly different from their own (driver’s licenses are given out only after the age of 20, I believe, but most people don’t bother getting them). They both grimaced at the Brazilian visa and said that the country was angry at the US for requiring them to have a visa to enter, and so it was good that we needed one in return. They were shocked, however, that it lasted for five years.

After landing in Manaus, the fifteen of us slept in a cool Volkswagen bus until we rounded on a street where Carnival was being celebrated vibrantly. The noises of Carnival woke each of us up, and we looked out the windows to see men dressed as women, women dressed as prostitutes, and children dressed as animals partying on the streets. A few moments later on a scary looking street, we stopped and got out to enter into our hotel for the night—a place with barbed wire and bars across the doors. Even upon entering our room we realized that it looked like a cross between Hostel and Debbie Does Dallas, scaring the three of us into exploring more. We turned on the TV to find porn playing, opened the bathroom to find possibly the most grungy shower and toilet in existance, and tried to open the duct taped windows only to find that they were shattered in far too many places to move. Despite the 100 degree heat we slept on our towels (as there were ant infestations in each of the beds) and listened to the air conditioner (and I use that term loosely) as it turned on and off to the cadence of the reverlers outside.

2/17/2007- Different Eyes (Salvador, Brazil)

On this morning I woke to a non-rocking ship and ran upstairs to get my first glimpse of Salvador de Bahia, Brazil, and South America all in one. I was not at all expecting what I saw... not that I knew at all what to expect. It's difficult growing up in a first-world country with money and privilege and then trying to imagine what it’s like to walk into a very different third-world country. But looking out from the seventh deck, I saw what all the professors and books have attempted to describe to us and failed—a completely different world than that which we have lived our entire lives.

How can you describe something that is so vastly different than anything you have ever imagined? There’s no basis for comparison or words that can possibly tell you what it’s like to be an American walking though the streets of Salvador. It’s not simply a continent away; it’s a world away. People don’t watch you as though you are an alien in New York; like you are from a completely different world than them. As much as we don’t understand them, they understand us even less. Every time we walked by all the heads were turned and comments made in flowing Portuguese about us. Words like ‘American’ and ‘Bush’ were the only understandable utterances from their lips.

2/7/2007- All the Colors of the World (Bioluminescent Bay, Puerto Rico)

Last night I went to Bioluminescent Bay, one of the four in the world. We kayaked into a tiny mangrove that streched on for an hour’s ride while watching the nightlife as darkness fell around us. As darkness penetrated our line of sight, we started to notice that the water was emitting a strange light when we touched it with our oars. Before long we started to notice not just colors but shapes that were glowing bright neon colors while swimming about. Eventually, we hit an open lagoon seemingly in the middle of no where. When the paddles touched the water, it was as if the world below had been lit on fire.

On a moment’s notice, without words or collaboration, we all just decided to go follow the emotion in our hearts. Fully clothed and cold, each of us dove out of our kayaks and into the glowing water. There we were in a lagoon close to pitch black, with more stars than I have ever seen dancing above us, and wherever you touched or whichever way you moved began to glow bright blue and green. You couldn’t see people, or shapes- just the color and sparkling outline of their forms breaking through the dark.

2/6/2007- Breakfast with Desmond Tutu (Atlantic Ocean)

It was my first day of classes onboard Semester at Sea when I managed to get out of bed for breakfast. The dining room was nearly empty due to the ungodly hour of seven to a university student, and so I collected my food and noticed the Archbishop Desmond Tutu sitting alone in the corner. As we’d only been on our journey three or four days at this time I wasn’t sure how to address him or how he would act towards students, but I decided that this was a once in a lifetime risk to take.

“Good morning, father,” I remember saying softly, afraid of a roll of the eyes or a heavy sigh from the well sought-out man. “My name is Sharon. Are you waiting for someone?” There was a moment of the awkward silence I’d been dreading. But then something happened that I will never forget—the South African Archbishop grinned a toothy grin and waved to the table.

“I was waiting for you, Sharon”