Hi Lindsay, I have just been accepted by SAS for the Spring 2011 voyage, and I randomly chanced upon your website. I am currently having a hard time trying to decide between a Semester at Sea program and a study abroad program in Berlin. I know they sound very different, but I think they appeal to different parts of me, which makes it even harder to decide. Hence, I have some questions about your experience if you don’t mind answering:

When you were traveling around the ports, did you feel they were too touristy? I don’t want to limit myself to only exploring typical tourist destinations.

How strong were the academics? I know that the main experience comes from the ports, but I still want to learn and enjoy my classes. Did most people take classes seriously?

I wanted to clarify this with you. I heard that SAS had a reputation of being a “booze cruise” or a “party boat” in the past. How did you feel about that from your experience?

I just thought that it would be good to consult with someone who has been through the experience. Best, Alyssa

Alyssa, there are few things I like more than talking about Semester at Sea, and they include peace and the end of world hunger. Actually, Semester at Sea often makes me feel more hopeful for the world the more people get this kind of experiential learning opportunity. I’d love to answer your questions and hopefully make your decision a little easier.

The MV Explorer is a passenger maritime vessel, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to feel like a cruise-goer. Especially aboard a full semester voyage, the majority of destinations will reveal a less glorified coastal presence. Cape Town’s VA Waterfront feels a little touristy. Chennai’s maritime port does not. In some places, you will find that the existence of a cruise ship makes rickshaw drivers and vendors flock like moths to a profit-tempting flame. Regardless of the port, if you’re looking for the grittier or more authentic option, it’s always there.

Saigon's Maritime Port

As Semester at Sea will tell you, you’re allowed to travel anywhere within that country while the ship is docked, as long as you can return to the ship on time. So when you note the port of call, don’t see that city as a limitation to what you can discover in that country. Sometimes it will be more expensive to stay close, sometimes you’re saving money by getting out of the city.

If you choose to go on the Spring 2011 voyage, your itinerary will allow you plenty of travel options to the heart of that culture.

There are a couple destinations that overlap with my itinerary in 2007. Not all of them are off-road, gritty options, but they’re amazing, which is all they really need to be.

Cape Town, South Africa
Hike Table Mountain up and take the cable car down
If you like wine and vineyard visits, allow yourself just one tour to see Stellenbosch
Venture to Gansbaai for a Great White Shark Dive. You won’t be sorry you did.
Start in Cape Town and make your way along the southern coast on the Garden Route
While venturing down the Garden Route, hit up Plettenberg Bay and do the world’s most beautiful skydive!
Go on safari in Kruger Park or one of the many nature reserves around the country

Port Louis, Mauritius
Board a bus to Mahebourg/Blue Bay and stay at the Chantemer on a private beach near great snorkeling

Chennai, India
Travel within the south of India to maximize experience and minimize travel time (try Tamil Nadu and Kerala)
Take advantage of the village homestays offered in the International Field Programs, like this one

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
If you feel like busting out of the norm at this point, hop on a flight to Hanoi and bus it to Ha Long Bay

Hong Kong, China
Here’s where you can bust loose. Fly somewhere. Fly anywhere. How about the Yunnan province?

Kobe, Japan
Get a J-Rail pass before arriving, venture to Tokyo, and try your hand at sleeping in a Manga cafe

I had the same fear. Being around others who are inspired and fueled by knowledge is exciting, and I know it pushes me to be the best version of myself. I also didn’t want to waste valuable time in my academic career by not getting the right credits. Well, Alyssa, rest assured, because the faculty aboard Semester at Sea is incredibly strong, oftentimes intimidatingly so.

Hectic and whirlwind are two words to adequately describe the academic experience during SAS. Not only are the teachers skilled and specialized, but the slew of other factors bombarding the academic experience all make SAS a difficult program to cruise through. A semester of classes is crammed into much less time, thanks to dock time. Teachers are under pressure to compact their topic into your travel-hungry brains, amidst the pre-existing sea of anticipated activities and debunked world views. It’s stressful, but classes also seem to offer more compelling content than the normal setting would facilitate.

An added benefit to the SAS academic curricula is the opportunity to take a class you wouldn’t otherwise take. On top of my art and education focuses, I tacked on a little oceanography in order to learn about my new school setting. Thankfully, I needed another science credit for my undergrad requirements, so take comfort in knowing liberal arts degrees will be easily accommodated.

Nope. Not for me. Well, not entirely.

There are opportunities to have a glass of wine or beer on the ship (including beers from the recent ports of call), and you have ample freedom to take in a cocktail on land; however, you’ll find the emphasis of Semester at Sea isn’t on binge drinking but binge learning. While a select few treat SAS like a traveling fraternity party, the vast majority of students have other priorities in mind.

The cost of the program and the infinite opportunities it offers cause most people to make best use of their time. Someone’s always reading on deck, planning in the library, studying in the Union, conferencing with friends on the next destination’s activities. People are moving at light speed in port, trying to experience as much as humanly possible in five days, four days, seven days.

To use Semester at Sea like a booze cruise is like sucking on a mint during an expensive wine tasting, ordering plain lettuce at the world’s best restaurant, or going to Woodstock at never leaving the Port-o-Potty. Most people are smart enough not to piss away a prime opportunity.

I researched like a mad woman before SAS, assuming there would be some element of this lovely experience that I would hate. As a skeptic, I can assure you I’ve had all the same worries about this study abroad as you have, and I’m here to tell you they can all be overlooked. Aside from the obvious ones, here are some of my favorite points about SAS.

The Alumni Network
There’s no close-knit cameraderie between those who have studied abroad in Florence, Beijing, or Sydney. Because SAS is such a rare and monumental experience, those who have shared it really honor this bond that unites them. You’d be amazed at the vast list of prominent SASers. Check out who I shared the fold with in this SAS alumni newsletter (pages 6 and 7).

Life at Sea
It’s incredible. Who else can say they’ve sailed through ever time zone in the world, over the Equator and Prime Meridian, spent 100 days at sea? And it’s not even about bragging rights. It’s a priceless experience, especially along with 700 other people your age.

The Friendships Solidified
I’ve maintained zero close friendship from my two Italian study abroads, but here is a list of outings, visits, trips, experiences I’ve had with SAS friends since we disembarked in May of 2007.

March 2011: Alexis visits New York City during law school spring break.
August 2010: Alexis visits Indianapolis after her year teaching in China.
May 2010: Garrett and I meet in New York City prior to his departure for Africa and mine for Mexico.
December 2009 – February 2010: Garrett and I create The Nakavika Project and travel throughout Fiji.
April 2009: Garrett and I visit Alexis in Des Moines for a weekend of hilarity.
January 2009: Garrett, Alexis, and I go on a ski trip in Colorado together.
May 2008: Garrett, Alexis, and I travel for three weeks throughout Europe.
April 2008: Alexis and Karron visit Bloomington for Little 500.
October 2007: Alexis, Karron, Anna, Laura, Mary, and I reunite in Madison, Wisconsin just for fun.
August 2007: Alexis and Garrett visit Indianapolis for our first reunion since San Diego.

And to top off my list of SAS favorites, here’s one of my earliest travel videos highlighting the best moments from my voyage.

I’ve turned tens of people to the program simply by listing the prime and exhilarating life opportunities open to everyone and happily extinguishing any and all skepticism. My best advice to you would be to join the ranks of thousands who have sailed around the world, felt the palpable excitement of a new country off the gangway, and reaped the innumerable benefits years afterward. No one ever regrets Semester at Sea.

Was this post helpful? Have any more questions about Semester at Sea? Any questions period? Send a video or message to me with your queries, and I’ll be sure to get back to you!

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This summer I was planning on doing a study abroad program, and now I’m waiting to hear back for responses.

I love how you encourage going somewhere if that’s of utmost desire. I would die to do something like that, but how do parental worries factor into that?

Not to intrude, but do you happen to have lax parents who are chill with that? -Natalia

That’s funny. You’re funny, Natalia.

When it comes to my travels, my parents started off as anything but go-with-the-flow kind of people. It was very hard for my mom to come to terms with my travel desires, and she barely slept when I took off on my own in Vietnam (my first time solo in a foreign city).

Why All The Fear?

I’ve got all sorts of dramatic stories of parting from my parents for the road. And from the sounds of those stories, I seem like a terrible offspring – leaving my mother on her birthday for the next 187 days. I think parents really dread those moments of departure, feeling the weight of the lonely and troubled days in-between your safe arrival home. Of course, it’s not without due cause – and, heck, I’m no parent – but I do think that’s normal and temporary.

All parents are skeptical at first, fear the worst constantly, but eventually get used to you going solo the more you come back with reassuring statements about your experience. It’s normal to want to take their fears into strong consideration, but my advice is to do your research yourself and not listen only to what your parents are concerned about from news and media exposure, as well as comments from their friends. Not everyone travels or sees the world the same way. Talk to other travelers who move and see the world the same way you do, and read books about the place; that will tell you whether you should be worried or not about your experience in a destination.

Curb Their Lack of Enthusiasm

Be sure to include your parents’ concerns into your evaluation of future travels – doing otherwise will make you seem rebellious or immature – and be sure to follow it up with all the solid facts, research, and advice from experienced travelers/writers. The more they know you have your head on straight, the more they will trust your intuition as you fly solo.

It’s also important to think about your track record and how it relates to your street smarts, travel savvy, and ability to take care of yourself. Your parents will probably always see you as a green 16 year-old, but as long as you’ve proven in the past you’re not easily pushed over or taken advantage of, you can reason with them that you’re prepared for what the world is ready to throw at you.

My parents still aren’t cheerleaders for my non-professional travels, but at least they understand that I want to do it. When I had doubts about traveling around the world alone in 2008, my mom was surprisingly the voice that encouraged me to do what I want, which was against what she wanted for me. They tolerate my leisure travels these days, but my paid travel makes much more sense. It’s a generational thing, as well.

Communication Makes the Difference

As a graduation present, my parents were kind enough to get me a World Edition Blackberry, which enabled constant communication via e-mail to my parents from wherever I was in the world – excluding Malawi, Cambodia, Kashmir, and Zambia, which weren’t set up at the time for data usage.

While overlanding in Africa, I would wake up to the alarm on my phone and immediately receive an e-mail from my mom about the weather outside my tent flap. She was six hours behind me but still knew the weather I would experience that morning. This was certainly a way to placate her worries, because when I didn’t respond to her e-mails for twelve days in a row (in Kashmir), nerves nearly sent my dad on a plane to find me.

It may be inconvenient to pay a phone bill or constantly find internet cafes to correspond from, but a quick e-mail affirming your happiness and safety are great ways to facilitate your parents’ sleeping patterns.

A Mother’s Perspective

It seemed only fitting to ask my mother her opinion on my travels, safety, and her feelings toward my independent travel lifestyle.

The summer before I entered sixth grade, I asked my parents if I could attend a military camp an hour north of our town, a camp my brother attended the previous two summers. Though his camp sessions were only two weeks at a time, I decided I wanted to experience the six week, intensive summer camp, which involved three different sessions of learning new skills, bunking with fifteen other girls in a log cabin, and all things military: general inspections, personal inspections, marching, etc. I went to this camp knowing no one previously.

Most ten year-olds don’t normally ask for such experiences, and my mom noted this as major characteristic difference between myself and my peers. My independence was obvious at a young age.

When I wanted to travel alone for seven months through dangerous African cities and over-populated, crime-ridden regions in Asia, my mom was unnerved but also comforted by looking at my track record. According to her, I had proven myself, through my voluntary college responsibilities, multiple situations that exhibited my leadership, my friend choices, previous trip motivations, and a track record of wise decisions in life.

I’ve always been a passionate person, but that didn’t stop me from analyzing my decisions carefully in the context of my life. Because I conducted myself well in high school, used my free time thoughtfully, dealt well with other people, I seemed like I could handle the road.

One thing that made my travels much easier on my parents, especially my mom, was the steady progression of my trips from easy to advanced: family trips, solo domestic trips, static study abroads, global study abroad, and finally solo global travel. I was weened slowly from my bubble life in northern Indiana and given the gift of time to slowly make mistakes and learn from them.

Mom Recommends…

To the hopeful world travelers in easing parental worries:

Showed maturity in what you do with your time and the people you chose to be with.

To the freaked out parents/mothers of world travelers:

We all want the best for our children and for them to do what makes them happy. If what they do to make themselves happy doesn’t do the same for you, know the strong character they’ve always exhibited will carry over to the streets of India and help them deal with the world they encounter (hopefully they’ve researched!).

And don’t believe, for one second, that one trip will get the bug out of their system. It never leaves their system. Trust your child, and don’t make yourself sick. Bad things can happen anywhere. Living in fear is a choice.

The Bottom Line

We can’t force our parents to feel the same way we do about the world and traveling through it. If it matters to you how your parents and family feel about your travels, approach the idea of changing their minds with as much fact, reason, and sensitivity as you can gather. Parents know better than anyone that college isn’t the end of the learning experience. Hopefully we are all striving to be lifelong learners, and the fast track to learning is often located far from anyone’s comfort zone.

World travelers aren’t running from family, they’re pulled by two worlds, both of which can’t be ignored. To deny the movement impulse would be just as difficult as disregarding the friends and family that make us solid. Parents, we’re going to be okay, and travelers…be sure you remain okay. People are hoping you come back home.

Was this post helpful to you as a traveler or as a parent? Do you have any comments or anything to add? Please don’t hesitate to comment below or contact me personally!

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It’s no mystery why I’m intrigued by these two travelers. And especially since they’ll be taking off tomorrow, all the more perfect is our timing in getting to know them! Once again, this series of Interview a Traveler is about people worth mentioning because of their amazing character and ambition that spans continents for the purpose of learning and doing something they can stand behind. And be sure to check out the video portion of this feature!

His Bio: Once accused of being a spy in Bern, Switzerland, Casey Hudetz is not afraid of adventure. This DePaul graduate and Chicago native has traveled around the world, including a summer backpacking around Europe and a stint with the Peace Corps. Leveraging his experience teaching technology at the Francis W. Parker School in Chicago and this internship, Hudetz plans to pursue a career in documentary filmmaking.

*Note to fellow SASers: Casey is also a Semester at Sea alum.

Her Bio: From leading groups of fellow students on a service trip to South Africa or as the current director of Freshman Leadership at the University of Georgia in Athens, where she earned her degree, Natalie Webb is a natural born leader. Counting kayaking in Portugal as one of her favorite experiences, Webb plans to use the World Traveler Internship to pursue a career in writing, producing or starring in her own travel-themed television show.

Bios courtesy of the STA Travel Pressroom

Are you nervous to travel with a complete stranger? What has been your philosophy with travel partners thus far?

NW: I think the extrovert in me gets an adrenaline rush from meeting new people, so I am beyond excited to travel with a complete stranger! I am a lot more laidback than I may appear on camera, and I love adapting to almost all kinds of situations. Unless Casey keeps jumping and knocking me over.. then we could have some problems.

CH: At first I was a little apprehensive. “What if we don’t get along? What if my jokes don’t go over? What if….? What if….?” But since we’ve spoken, I am very excited to travel with Natalie. For me, I travel best with people that like to travel (and know how to be present). When I’m in a new place, I move as quick as possible to see as much as possible. “How often am I in _______?” I ask myself as I sprint to catch a bus. If I have to explain this sentiment to the person I’m with, it can get difficult.

What’s the most thrilling aspect of this experience to you:

1. The free travel part to # countries
2. Having a wide audience with the potential to impact the student travel community
3. This potentially being a step toward a career in the same industry
4. Other…

NW: I would say for me that it is “4: The fact that I get to be a part of 1, 2, and 3.” I mean who doesn’t love traveling for free right? So 1 is a given. With 2, I really enjoy communicating in various capacities to students (mainly because that has been my job for the past two years!), so I am thrilled to get this opportunity to live out my passion. In regards to 3, I have dreamed of being in the travel production industry since age 10, so I am honored and excited to get to work on building my portfolio with our projects throughout the summer.

CH: 2. Having a wide audience with the potential to impact the student travel community

What do you anticipate being the hardest aspect of this internship?

CH: The ending. And getting enough sleep!

NW: Having enough room in my bag to pack all the costumes I want to bring for the summer!! I think it may get tough bouncing around from country to country having very little stability and time to rest and focus on our production content. I hope both Casey and I find the balance of putting forth solid material and enjoying the continents in the process!

Have you two discussed your plan yet for the unscripted European portion? Dare to give us a clue?

CH: We’ve got our plans. You’ll know when the time comes!

NW: Yes…Oh how we have discussed this delightful finale to our trip! Although it is still a work in progress, we are attempting to make it to Italy to witness the epic event of Palio di Siena…kind of the Italian version of the Kentucky Derby. We may enjoy the Swiss Alps region and end our trip in Paris…eating crepes, my favorite food!

*I love that I got two differing answers for that question.

If the WTI was like Project Runway and the Tim Gunn of STA Travel told you at the last minute, “Plan an additional side trip from your trip route to any country neighboring those on your itinerary…to happen at any point in the schedule,” where would that side trip fit in, what would be the destination, and what would you two do?

NW: I would choose to hop on over to the south island of New Zealand. I have a family friend there who owns a sheep farm and he could teach Casey and I the art of sheep herding and wool weaving. And then. We of course must go on the Lord of the Rings tour!

CH: After speaking with friends and seeing your footage, Lindsay, I think Fiji would be a real treat. Also, I’d love to go back to Paraguay to see friends I made years ago.

What on Earth are you going to do when you get home?

NW: 1) Sleep. 2) Unpack my life. 3) Probably a little laundry. 4) Start looking for other awesome ways to travel the world.

CH: Luckily, I work at a great school and I plan on resuming right where I left off. And after that? Who knows.

The 2010 Itinerary

Casey and Natalie will be heading off tomorrow to STA Travel Headquarters in Lewisville, Texas. Soon after, they’re flying to Peru to volunteer near Machu Picchu, traveling through Brazil and Argentina, Australia, Tasmania, Japan, Thailand, Turkey, Egypt, and a self-propelled Euro-trip through Western Europe before heading back home to complete the loop. To see their trip in a little more detail, check out the full itinerary.

Follow the Internship

They meet tomorrow (May 26th), so be sure to keep up with the entire experience by:

• Watching for their blogs
• Following their tweets
• Check out their videos
• and checking out their personal sites…

Natalie’s Twitter
Natalie’s Youtube Channel

Casey’s Blog
Casey’s Youtube Channel
Casey’s Twitter

Congratulations, Casey and Natalie! You’re about to have one wild experience. Pack your melatonin, stay healthy, create constantly, and, above all, enjoy the nature of the job. For me, that was the most thrilling part.

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GoBackpacking.com

David Lee, editor and long-term independent traveler, will be posting some of my travel stories in the coming weeks, including my couchsurfing experience in Uganda and a tricky Indian visa situation in Zambia. Subscribe to his addictive feed to keep up with all these guest postings and more, a series perhaps, surely to come!

Subscribe to Nomadderwhere’s posts via RSS feed or e-mail

Subscribe to Nomadderwhere’s posts via RSS feed or e-mail

Subscribe to Nomadderwhere’s posts via e-mail or RSS feed

Subscribe to Nomadderwhere’s posts via RSS feed or e-mail

It’s been far too easy to accept being around people I know, spending money that’s not mine in amounts unjustified, sleeping on mattresses and wearing clean clothes, letting someone else fend for my safety and entertainment, letting myself forget about what I just did.  I was so anxious to get off the plane in Maui and see people who would release so many burdens for me and make me finally feel comfortable.  I received the treatment that comes with money at no cost to me.  And I had the luxury of ears that would listen to my stories, and my mouth wouldn’t stop.  I wanted to pull out every shirt and bag of tea I bought to display, telling stories of their capture and the game I had to play to pay the right price.

We immediately went into recovery mode, sending me to the spa to cleanse my craggy face.  Laying in that perfect bed with someone treating my face to sublime perfection only had me adding the costs and realizing I was spending so many families’ yearly incomes on something for myself…that I could do to myself.

I came to the realization that the world is not fair, and I was born in a prosperous and privileged society.  I cannot be mad at that.  I cannot be mad that people don’t know what’s out there when it’s so hard to penetrate that bubble around America and find the truth of billions of lives.  The greenbacks have so little value here, though I was spending them with no problems in worlds that treasured their worth like golden tickets.

And I was once a spectacle with my white skin, my fine hair, a massive German-built backpack and real trekking shoes.  I had to hide the location where I stashed my $1 bills and never pulled out my phone unless I could hide it in a corner or feel the comfort of a two-star hotel.  I stare at the shoulder of the road, in awe of the space available, and wish there were snack, merchandise, and restaurant stands where I could spend my cents on a cultural gem.

I’m still among oceans and volcanoes, neon sunsets and an international crowd, so I imagine something profound will hit me when I return home to a bleak and misty hometown.  I’ll be wearing scarves to shield low temperatures instead of covering my shoulders for temples or my hair in Muslim cultures.  A coat will be worn more often than a t-shirt, and I’ll have a choice of clothing that will make the matter between my ears ache.  I’ll be tempted by and probably often succumb to the vices of alcohol and club nights more than I will sleep on public transportation and pull out my camera.

I never have to change money.  I will have vast quantities of shampoo, conditioner, lotion, soap, hot water, clean water, make-up, light, clean towels, towels with any nip at all, floor surfaces that don’t stick or require flip-flops, clean sheets, mattresses with springs and without stains, AC blowing from all angles, air that doesn’t have the hint of watered down urine, and I could go on.

There are postcards available through Dragoman Overland that showcase posed pictures of people making the rough transition back home from their overlanding experiences..men squatting in their manicured front lawns while reading the Times and using toilet paper that hovers from an isolated wire…or a person prepared with fork and knife looking at the live guinea pig in front of them, unsure of where to go from here.  I plan on being confused again for a long time, and hopefully this time around I will combine that feeling with a little more happiness.

I know that traveling is something that challenges me like a social, gastronomic, survival, monetary, cultural, geographic game of strategy, but I yearn for something other than what I can do for myself.  I have taken to heart the advice of a selected few I met on the trail, and whether they were reliable sources of wisdom, I believe there was a fated reason I heard those words trickle from their lips. From their knowledge, I have learned that I think too much, that my imagination has stood in the way of my realized life, and that maybe…I am not happy.

That last statement hurt me the most.

How is it possible to be successful at motivating others, pulsing life into parties, making others and yourself laugh, and listening to your inner most desires without honestly knowing whether happiness is something you truly possess.  I have family and some friends that complete my heart’s need for company and love, and I have the ability to do things only a tiny fraction of the world’s population can share with me.  How can I live with an Italian family, cost free, weekend at a Tuscan villa, drink top notch Limoncello, and slice through the world’s best pizza without feeling the satisfaction the majority of the world would treasure?  I cried at their lunch table because they told me I was unhappy.  I started asking people I didn’t know if they could sense my Happy Meter.

There could be some merit in the fact that I’ve done something so magnificent that, now, the thing I want to do the most is what is normally expected of me, at this age, in this culture, in this family, and in this millennium.

It is so important to me to stay in touch with the most primitive side of myself, peeing in the grass, drinking river water, grabbing soil and sleeping undisturbed with the crickets, but I have such a problem following suit in the effort to find the other half that humans have decided is necessary.  I’ve grown so much.  I know this has to be true.  I’ve learned recipes and have talked to people in historic societies.  I’ve had a distant perspective on a huge event in my own country and seen how the world reacts to our words.  I’ve been secluded from people who think like me and have found a hidden sense of nationalism that never existed in the consciousness before.  I’ve been without my crutches and my companions for so long that I’ve become a ready-to-punch, survival-minded Neanderthal that talks to itself for amusement.

This is my mind on overpriced beer, teetering on the edge of a big life landmark.  I just traveled around the world and am boarding my 22nd plane of the year. I’ve maxed out a persons allotted superlatives at the age of 23, and I could brag, I am compelled to unknowingly brag, but I don’t want to. I want to seal my lips and hold those thoughts inside.  I want to write a novel of secrets and leave the publication the gift of surprise on those I know.  So the trip has come to a close.  I feel like the world around me should be fuzzy…give me another beer and I think that could happen.

This is a piece I will read at a later date, edit and add to, and suck on like a sweet nostalgic candy.  This is a big moment in my life.  203 days of scouring the Earth for happiness and the meaning of life.  It was a noble quest that makes me pretend to believe I connect with the greats of history.  And now I wish to relate to the greats of my radio, my toted books, the personas on the screens, the withered wrinkles of a past generation I admire.  The only thing that matters at this point of time is the word behind the cursor.

I want to make money in some way.  I wish I could paint and write and sing dollars into my account while enlightening others to Van Gogh their lives instantly.  I’ll set such goals lofty high in order to give my life meaning I can be proud of.  However, what is very likely is that I will get a job that sets me in a nice place and find myself a few years down the line reminiscing too much about a trip I took one year.

My hope and rock lies in the fact that I’ve had this thought before, and I squashed it by the conception of my Big Journey.  I became a nomad after dreaming about being one.  I had a highlight that depressed me, knowing it would soon be in my wake.  But a new highlight bubbled into my biography, and I made it happen with desire, dollars, and the knowledge that it was envied.  I used to have so much confidence in the person that was myself, that I had never let go of my values, even when they changed, and let the microphone of my consciousness’ decisions always resonate the voice of my being…but now I think I am more complicated than I ever let myself acknowledge.  I want someone to probe me for information that uncovers layers I’ve never allowed the light of day.  Maybe that’s the information that tingles when I have epiphanies, when the broom sweeps the matter I keep piling for comfort and leaves me to feel the rush of wind that combines with a peaceful moment.

I hope that even an ounce of this purge is true.  I cannot truly be confident in that fact anymore.  I’m just following the ranks of Mrs. Dalloway.   Today I wondered why the shuttle driver was so chatty.  You ask one question and they ramble like they’re the prime time attraction on the latest late night show.  And then it came to me, from my father’s knowing mouth…they want a tip.  Blasted!

America!  I forgot your sneaky ways!  Welcome home, me.  Enjoy your cat.  She probably hates you.  Begin your life as it was predicted to be.  But keep your new knowledge close by.  And go pee for Pete’s sake! You’ve had a liter already!

And with this, my Big Journey comes to a close.

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Something that developed from this solo trip abroad was an intense willingness to chit-chat with anyone I could come in contact with: customs officers, check-in personnel, and the guy who arranges the pylons in the parking lot…er’body. I find great joy in identifying these things that have changed in me from May to November, and talking to strangers as if we’re chums is one of them.

I hung out in the Honolulu airport for a few hours, smiling from ear to ear every time I could speak to an airport employee or grace my optics on a gawdy, hilarious Hawaiian shirt. And I was anxiously anticipating the coming reunion, that with my parents after six months apart. Not that I’m a Mama’s girl or anything, but that length of time can certainly make you miss your parentals. It was only a 15 minute flight, flying with the trade winds and grazing over blue waters and white feathered waves, but it was hard to appreciate the beauty of my last lone flight on this journey because of my knocking knees and chattering choppers.

Descending the escalator of the terminal to see Mom’s dancing feet was a thrill. There were a few double pulsed hugs and the adornment of the obligatory lei. I willingly soaked up every moment when someone wanted to do something for me. Usually I demand to carry my own weight and open my own doors, but I let Dad be the white knight to his heart’s content.

I rode in the seat of honor, up front in a blinding white convertible, regurgitating stories non-stop and watching the street shoulders, amazed there were no entrepreneurs out selling their food and wares. I played my CDs purchased from the streets of Bangkok and showed off what finger and toe nails I was able to salvage from my fungal issue (delicious, eh?).

I looked around to observe the entire island of Maui. We weren’t driving on a skyway or even at a high elevation, but as we looped around towards Maui’s northwest coast, I could see the looming volcano and wrapping beaches for miles. Each time we drove throw a cut, fences and nets held back the settling crumbles of volcanic rock wanting to go with gravity. The drive reminded me of my bucket list plans to live on a beach for a year and solidified the idea that Hawai’i might have to be the place for such a beach-front lifestyle.

We had a time share condo in a building by the Kanapali beach where I took great pleasure in seeing the Clark household staples food groups: red wine, skim milk, chocolate, pretzels/nuts, and whole wheat bread. My mom didn’t waste a second in making me a welcome back Bloody Mary, not that I enjoy this drink especially but because she was proud of her ever-so delicious Zing-Zang mix. After setting up my office on the patio with my computer my parents brought from home, I began showing photos from the most recent experiences. I could not organize my thoughts into digestible stories nor could I even stay with one photo album but jumped from safari shots in Africa to people poses in India. How does one start retelling a tale of epic proportions?

I kid you not, and I apologize for being graphic, but I had a beard of acne upon getting back to American soil. I was disgusted with myself, and Mom was more than willing to help me out with this issue by sending me on my way to the in-house spa. After briefly discussing my trip and recent trans-Pacific flight with the woman performing my intense facial, I completely passed out, unfortunately not feeling the soothing effects of the work but definitely benefiting from the extraction of African dust and sweat from Asia. It was a job that desperately needed to be done. Ick.

I lounged by the pool, read issues of my high school magazine, and called every friend I missed hearing. I adorned new clothing for the first time since…who knows when. And we hit up every type of food I had missed while out and about. Mexican was a speedy first stop, although, being out of the habit of carrying around my ID, I lacked adequate proof I was of age to imbibe any cold ones from Mexico. This happened not just once but just about every time we went out. Fortunately we stopped getting so adventurous and just started eating at the hotel, within running distance from the ID in our room.

Now, the Clark family isn’t the most adventurous or active family. We have trouble doing anything that doesn’t involve a tennis racquet, walking shoes, or a beach chair while on vacation. But one thing Mom organized for us to do, initiated by her own desire, was ziplining across the valleys of the volcano. And let me tell you, watching those two fling themselves around from ledge to ledge was entertaining to the point of stomach cramps. Each time one of them landed at the end point of one zipline, their feet would struggle to grab the landing, often resulting in a butt slide or Fred Flintstone twinkle toe moment. I video taped everything to laugh at time and time again. Our group loved the hilarity and couldn’t believe this was all Mom’s idea to fly around a volcano on wires.

The drive to and from the ziplines was reminiscent of the drive to the Serengeti in Tanzania, corrugated and highly pocked, which made the middle-agers wince and make one-liner jokes to their adventure companions. I love how people bond on these afternoon excursions; everyone wanting to prove they aren’t the group party-pooper or dry spirit. It’s hilarious. I volunteered to sit in the back, knowing from experience I don’t normally spew when deprived of good air and sent airborne in the back of a motor vehicle.

The consensus of this Hawaiian experience in my mind was that it was surprisingly NOT hard to get back to the luxurious side of life. True, this fact shocked and actually scared me, that I had not be completely slanted towards the simple ways after four months of hard living (in Africa and Asia). However, I think this time coming home, I understood all too well that the world really is unfair, and that I’ve lived like this lushly since birth. Not that we lose Benjamins in the couch cushions and buy caviar for our Ritz crackers or anything, but we are comfortable in the American eye. I guess I looked at this change in lifestyle as a cultural experience. Just one more stop on the itinerary, and I looked at our family traditions with a fresh glance.

I awoke very late in the mornings due to jetlag, and I often felt uneasy as I opened my eyelids. Many times in Maui, I had the unsettling dream that I, along with my family and all who knew me, forgot what I had just accomplished: seven months of solo RTW travel. In these nightmares, I would have brief recollections of my experiences but would soon lose lucidity and go on living like I used to. I think I felt this because we stopped talking in such detail and with interest about my trip, but I battled those nightmares off by pulling out my computer yet again to reconnect with the images of my traveling past. Apparently, my subconscious never wants to forget my 2008 voyage. I don’t blame it.

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The Uni- – -I’m kidding. It’s Japan.

I had been to Japan before, only briefly on Semester at Sea, and already had an idea of social etiquette, my favorite candies, and some buzz words to throw out as though I were local. I even had a friend I was meeting on the evening of my arrival. But going from one extreme to the other, essentially Phnom Penh to Tokyo, has potential for causing an emotional stir in the mind of a weary traveler.

Short Digression for Background’s Sake: During college, I had the pleasure of meeting a fellow art history lover/Northern Hoosier/giggle-fest by the name of Bryan Lufkin. Our first meeting was actually when we were photographer and model, I being the camera clicker working on a charity calendar and he being the studly student leader for the month of September. Our friendship solidified with a mutual interest in Italian, Amy Sedaris, Japan, and all things travel…or funny. And after I returned from Semester at Sea feeling at a loss for honest connections with some of my friends, he seemed to pull into a clear spot as someone who understood the mind of Lindsay Clark, post-circumnavigation.

Bryan continues to teach himself Japanese and educate himself on their mystic culture, except instead of quizzing himself with flash cards at the IU Auditorium, he works as an English teacher at the base of Mt. Fuji. The JET program was smart to take this kid in. And so I had a friend in Japan to meet and revel with on my three day lay-over in Tokyo.

I managed to find our hostel with his directions in good time before our meeting at the bus terminal. Still feeling the wrath of a stuffy nose and sickness, I took to the showers and had what some may call a “religious experience.”

The door to the shower created a seal to not allow a vapor of steam out while the shower was in use. I put my 100 yen in the machine to send 10 minutes of scorching falls thunder on the mat. Hot water. An illuminated shower. No cockroaches. Provided soaps and a ledge for a razor. Unfathomable. And with this utter state of contentment, I began the act of purging my body of every morsel of foreign substance.

I scrubbed my pores raw.
I brushed my teeth and tongue until I gagged.
I turned the heat to scalding and steamed my body like a dumpling.
And I began hawking up everything in my system that didn’t belong there.

Had I had a lick of food in me, I surely would have sent it back up and out. After two or three different shampoo and rinse cycles, I was literally squeaking and my body weak from the uneventful wretches. I felt like I had been in a personal, physical war.

It was grotesque. It was wonderful.

I emerged from the shower a new woman, a healthy woman. I no longer had the sniffles. You may be wondering why I chose to write in such vivid explicit detail above, but the end result has since convinced me I’ve found the cure for the common cold. Do this, and you shall be free of the nasal drip. Do this, and feel oddly refreshed. Do this, and find strength in your own ability to cure yourself.

I recognized Bryan’s shag and shirt instantly in the midst of hundreds of commuters and within seconds of reuniting told him all about my awesome shower discovery. All the talking and walking led us in circles around the metro stations, since it takes an aware one to navigate Tokyo’s tied-up underground tubes. Eventually we landed at our hostel with bags of 7/11 dinner sustenance and caught up with months of discussion on the top floor couches until much past the midnight hour.

We awoke from our pods the next morning to a city calling our names. To the nerd quarter! To a maid café! The park! Tokyo Tower! Shibuya! Shipoopie! Bryan was an awesome guide and translator. We had a lunch at a joint that catered to the creepy miniature dog lovers (the creepy is directed at the owners, if that wasn’t clear), which would have fit perfectly in Indy’s Broad Ripple.

And a dinner of heavy appetizers at the Hip Hop Café led to passionate rants about Northern Indiana and shared shots with the partiers at the next table. With our cheap-o budgets and dwindling energies, we ended up at our hostel top floor once again, buying beers out of the vending machine and slowly sinking into the plush couches across from each other. I saw and did more that day than I had in two weeks in Cambodia.

Understandably, we moved slowly the next day. Finally breathing at the crack of noon, we traversed wet and soggy streets for the art museums that enliven our souls. Since both of us thrive on taking in brush strokes and compositions, it was a fitting place to mosey as the rain beat the city.

In the park surrounding the museums, I suddenly became aware of the nature wrapping around me, genuine Japanese-style gardens and flora that became dramatic with their moist and darkened bark. There’s something about taking in intentional or natural art that makes me feel like I’ve eaten; a fulfillment I wish would be more convincing. Man, what a diet that would be!

On one of our rides back to the hostel, we sat side-by-side, looking in opposite directions, in a momentary conversation lull, waiting for the doors to close from the current station. I felt a nudge in my side from Bryan and looked to see a man I had just earlier admired and wondered about. “He’s got awesome eyebrows. I wonder if he has to maintain them because they grow like weeds. I wish he would grow them out and brush them aside like a Kung Fu master would his dangling mustache.” The adorable man was face down in the woman’s lap beside him, drooling and unconscious.

Once again, at this moment of split-second decisions and action vs. inaction, I froze like I always seem to and watched with eyes like saucers. The woman whose lap was invaded began giggling and looking at her friend. I thought it an odd reaction, but Bryan later informed me that’s how many Japanese deal with very uncomfortable situations.

One man lunged to hit the big red button no one normally dares to touch in the subway. Another man, a bilingual American, came over with a quick but uneven gait from his crutch. He tried to bring the man back upright and into consciousness. His eyes flickered as though he was taking in his surroundings, but when the American pulled his hand away from the man’s forehead, his head wobbled like a lifeless marionette’s. I wished at that moment I had a dictionary to look up “Stroke”.

The conductors came running from the previous cars and the platforms to find the ones or situation responsible for the Emergency Alarm. The man began speaking to the sharp uniforms as though he had come to, but once the conductors left to discuss the matter minutes later, his head dropped just as dramatically as the first time into the woman’s lap.

He was carried out on a stretcher, staring at the illuminated ceiling while rubbing his bristly eyebrows. I imagined his thoughts being something like, “When did I get to be this old?” I imagined a little lady as cute as he getting a phone call from a medic downtown or some grandchildren with invisible weights on their chests from worry. I know it’s very “Lifetime Network” of me to think of such sap, but that’s all that passed through my mind, my unhelpful, frozen mind when an old man across from me on a subway passed out.

Bryan, being the employed person that he was, had to catch a bus back to his small town on that Sunday afternoon, and I continued to wander the streets of Shinjuku, feeling the timer tick away my minutes of adventure and seeing no point in spending wads of Yen on a few moments that wouldn’t outweigh seven months of fantastical reality. I would soon see my parents, my home soil, and the American dollar.

I accepted my imminent fate and gathered food from a 7/11, bargain shopped for my favorite Japanese candies, and put in the first season of Arrested Development in the hostel’s top floor entertainment center. Every following minute involved me putting my pen to paper and purging my mind of all the thoughts and moments still left hanging in my memory closet. Hours spent in my sleeping pod alit by headlamp, half a day in a coffee shop before my flight, I wrote down my history.

It felt in a sense like cheating on valued international time, but I have a way of justifying pretty much anything that makes me happy, anytime and anywhere. Besides, I saw an old man wearing a propeller hat outside the café as I took a sip of my coffee. I snapped a picture, giggled silently and thought, “This will be my lasting memory from my major journey abroad.”

An old man getting a pebble out of his shoe on the street in Japan…in a propeller hat.

Goodbye, World. Exit Stage Right.

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