home

I've been home for just over two weeks now.

And I'm not really sure what to make of it.

I thought I was content, I thought I was fine to just watch TV and eat home cooked meals. And in a way, I am. There is nothing safer, nothing that makes me happier than being on Glory Road, in Bancroft, Ontario.

And maybe that's the problem.

I've downloaded almost a dozen travel movies and bookmarked three times as many travel blogs. My mind doesn't rest on the here, but the 'when' and 'how'. Like, how viable is it to hitchhike across Canada. Or, when will I have enough money to buy a plane ticket that leaves this continent.

How long until I graduate.

When can I return.

When can I leave.

There are so many question marks in my future, but I think I'd almost rather that than solid answers. Answers are grounding, definite, and final. Questions are freeing.

- - -

If you see me, ask me about the twenty-four hours I spent getting home, including those hours that I thought I wasn't going to make it home.

Madrid to Lisbon to Toronto nearly broke me in more ways than one, but I swear I was the happiest traveler regardless. I accidentally told the guy at the Pizza Hut that I was gleefully going "Home to Canada!" rather than if I wanted dipping sauce or not.

- - -

I'm leaving for camp tomorrow, one of my favourite places in the world. And I've seen a lot of places now. Ontario Pioneer Camp holds a special place in my heart because it has shaped me into the woman I am today, and has given me so much. It is home as much as Glory Road is. I am very happy to continue to readjust back in such a place.

I don't doubt that it will continue to be a challenge to readjust back to life on land, but it's a challenge I think I am ready for.

Because, for a while, I was stupendously at sea.

things I want

- to lie with cat on my stomach and watch TV for an unhealthy amount of
hours
- to run barefoot outside in the backyard, dodging those prickly bushes
- drag the canoe down the embankment to the river and spend hours
fighting the current until my arms are sore
- to clean the kitchen, empty the dishwasher
- to not feel less capable because I speak only one language
- Tim Hortons, specifically a maple dip doughnut
- to go for walks with my family, alternatively chasing my brother and
the frisbee
- listen at night from my bedroom and hear nothing but the nightly
orchestra of crickets
- to close my eyes and know exactly where I am because of the curve and
bumps of the road
- to be home

I find myself wanting to sleep more because time passes quicker that
way. When I sleep I don't have to think about how much it hurts to think
about home. The past few days have been excruciating. It doesn't feel
quite real. Like, I know I will be home in just over 48 hours, but I've
been homesick so much the past few months this just feels like another
phase, and then I will have to get over it, to move on, then another
adventure until I remember again.

I remember my plane landing in Yangon and thinking, "What is it going to
feel like when the plane touches down in Toronto?" That felt like a
lifetime ago, but it feels more real than going home.

Home.

- - -

Oddly, I feel like I've been mentally home for a while now, figuring out
school things and camp things. Realizing that I will be moving into my
house in Kingston in a week is an odd thought. Won't I always be away
from the familiar?

But thus ends this chapter of my life.

I want to write something inspiring or thoughtful or meaningful on my
last day abroad but nothing is really coming to mind other than I
freaking can't wait to see my family, to use my phone as an actual phone
again, and be someplace I understand.

I think the whole reflection/understanding of this crazy semester will
take time. A long time.

It will be really tempting, I think, when I get home, to not want to
talk about it. They warned us, the last few days on the ship, that we
will be very annoying when we get home, the person who keeps name
dropping all the places they've been to. I don't want to be that person,
and I'm afraid that's going to result in me shutting down all
conversations about my travels, even if someone is genuinely curious. Or
maybe because I don't think I can put it into words for myself, I don't
want to try for others.

They also told us on the ship about "re-entry". The frustration that
accompanies going home, the shock of returning to your home culture.
Right now that seems absurd, but I suppose I will be watching for that.

- - -

I just want to skip the next 48 hours. I want to skip the nine hour
layover and eight hour plane ride.

I want to be in that moment of walking through the door in the airport
hauling all my stuff with me and see my family's faces when they see me.
I want the tears that will happen in that moment, I'm sure.

I want an awful lot of things, don't I?

- - -

Okay, enough of this. I think I will try to write one more entry before
I leave for camp, but then this blog will fade out of existence, being
that I am no longer stupendously at sea! And stupendously at home/school
just doesn't have the same ring to it I think.

Thanks again to all who have come with me so far. I'll see you soon.

mi familia or, when wanderlust is sated

It feels incredible to have a place that I can come back to at the end of the day. I'm well into my stay in Madrid, currently spending my mornings sleeping, my afternoons in a Spanish classroom and taking long unplanned walks, and my evenings with family.

To explain for non-family members... I'm not actually blood related to anyone in Madrid. My Uncle Carlos was an exchange student who lived with my Mom's family when she was in high school. He's been my "Uncle" my entire life, even though I only had a glimpse of a memory of meeting him when I was little, and I've only met him and his family a couple times in my adult life.

Regardless, he and his family have welcomed me graciously into their home in Madrid. I've loved getting to know him as well as his lovely wife and two daughters (who are 12 and 15 and more beautiful and socially-adept than I ever will be). I can't really explain my joy at being able to help load dishes into a dishwasher or eat ice cream in front of the tv- things that feel so blessedly normal I have never been so grateful for.

- - -

But along with the normal, I have been experiencing the city, but at my own pace (snail speed compared to SAS, but what I think I need right now).

I've spent hours in art galleries, and I intend to spend more. I avoid the tour groups and let my thoughts lead me. I love the Bibical scenes that I recognize but those that I don't even more, the colours and the stories.

I've spent a considerable amount of time in the Parque del Retrio, Madrid's largest park, 10 minutes from the house. I take a different route every time through it, and always find something new.



Carlos took me to a football match... This is really important here, apparently. All I know is I watched like six hours of soccer last Saturday and we're going to another match tomorrow.



Some of my SAS friends would be slightly appalled about how little I have done in Madrid. But to honest, I kind of want it this way. When I get home, I have precious little time to transition back to real life, then to camp. This is my vacation, and if that means reading in a park every day and eating sushi with my cousins and ice cream with my uncle then I am getting the most out of my time here.

- - -

I've been really struggling with how much I want to go home.

I remembered recently the countdown I had on my whiteboard all last semester, counting down the days until I left. I couldn't wait to leave. And now, the thought of waiting 7 days until my flight home seems forever. Not to mention the 8 hour flight across the ocean.

I'm concerned that this aching desire to go home means that living overseas isn't the right fit for me. I'm afraid that I'm actually secretly one of those people we whispered about on the ship, those people, who have no desire to leave their home town, who think North America is the best this planet has to offer.

But then I think about the excitement that buoyed me as I walked off the ship into a new country. Somewhere new to explore. And I loved the places that felt most like I could live there. I suppose once I spend a long time in a new country, truly making it home, then I maybe wouldn't miss Canada so much.

And then I remember that I have a lot to look forward to in the next year. My final year of my undergrad (including my little brother attending the same school, which means we'll get to spend more time together than we have in the past three years, which delights me to no end), fantastic new housemates and a challenging job, not to mention a summer at the greatest place in outer space before that. Being away has also confirmed how much I care about my friends at home. I'm excited to return to their friendships and how they will continue to grow in the upcoming years. And there's something cheesy about how distance makes the heart grow fonder... it's true, I think.

Some of my friends on the ship had absolutely no desire to return to their home, even displaying a sort of revulsion at the thought. I thought that was a little sad. The world is wonderful, but if you can't find any spark of happiness in the place where you were raised, I don't think you're looking hard enough.

- - -

All for now. Buenos noche.

aye, scotland

I got on the bus in London, and waved goodbye to Hallie. I stood in the bus station in Glasgow for barely two minutes before Rachel walked in the door. I felt like God was just handing me over from friend to friend, which was lovely.

It was so surreal being with someone from camp in a non-camp environment (although it always has felt slightly that way, until recently I think, when my camp friends have become more than just camp friends but true, life-long friends). But it's so incredible, always, being with someone who understands my jokes about Today's Special or the tuck shop or my constant need to reminiscence about the Waterfront.



- - -

When I reflect back on the few days I spend in Scotland, I find myself thinking in the musical accent in my head, which is odd, considering most of the time I didn't have a clue what was being said to me. I would often smile and nod and then turn to Rachel, looking for a translation.

But I loved that they said "out" and "about" like "oot" and "aboot", like Canadians, and that rather than "um", they said "ehhh".

It was difficult not to lapse into an accent myself, just letting my voice and tongue slide over words and phrases. My brother and I have often been told that we speak with an odd lilt, something neither us or our parents have been able to properly explain, and sometimes I find myself frustrated when it comes through and forces me to concentrate on being understood. I think the Scottish brogue was one that I wouldn't mind picking up rather than whatever the heck Ben and I have.

- - -

Rachel and I spent an absurd amount of time being cultured.

We browsed through two art galleries, attended an orchestra performance, watched a (very British) film, and a production of The Tempest. Maybe that's why I really enjoyed Glasgow- I felt like like it was comparable to my school-home of Kingston, a place filled with art and opportunities to appreciate it.

I also loved the architecture of the city- beautiful in a very strong, bold sort of way.



I think the only thing I struggled with was the rain. One day I looked out the window and said, "I don't think it'll rain today" and Rachel laughed at me. It rains every day in Glasgow. I'm not sure I could live in a somewhere that's always slightly damp.

- - -

The second day I was there we went hiking at a nearby lake - or, loch, as they call it in Scotland. Beautiful, green rolling hills and this tremendous view of the expansive Loch Lomond greeted us when we reached the top.



- - -

It was five short days I stayed with Rachel, but I was so grateful for every moment. The chance to relax with a good friend and not worry about if my stuff was getting stolen back at my hostel or if I would find somewhere to eat supper was very good for my mental and emotional health.

On the 13th, we woke up at 3 AM to get a taxi to the bus station. I waved goodbye to Rachel and was off once again.

Glasgow tasted like dark chocolate and cheddar and felt like peace. I'd love to experience more Scotland, but the days I had there were exactly what I needed.

- - -

I'm currently in Madrid, with family. Today I went to El Prado, felt overwhelmed by all the art there, had a picnic in a park where I played with friends of the family (including an adorable three year old), registered for a Spanish intensive course (fingers crossed, I'm super nervous), and went for a two hour swim (I can't feel my shoulders but I'm so happy).

All things said and done, I love being here, getting to know people I've always called family but have never really known. But I also am counting down the days until I am home.

Home.

london calling

With no natural rhythm of port-ship-port-ship, it feels odd writing my blog while still technically "in country". Yet, here I am. The blog does still feel like a really good processing tool though, so I feel drawn to continue.

I write this from Glasgow, sitting in my friend's flat, warm and content. I don't think she realizes how grateful I am for the opportunity to not worry about where I'm sleeping/what I'm eating/if my stuff is going to be stolen from my bag. We've been taking it really chill the past few days, which I'm also very grateful for. Not that I feel like my adventurous spirit is gone, but it's quite weary.

- - -

London was magnificent. It felt like a perfect city to drop off in after traipsing around the world - I saw restaurants selling dim sum and women in hijabs and I had some level of understanding rather than confusion. London is such a blending of the old and the new.

But a lot of the old. Oh my gosh, the plaques everywhere. Everything is important. I was walking to our hostel and realized we were about a block away from where James Barrie, the man who created Peter Pan, lived.

My days in London were a bit of hasty whirlwind, but I can recall some of my favourite moments.

- - -

One day, we saw a matinee of Titus Andronicus at The Globe. It was surreal, standing feet from the stage, the light filtering into the theatre. It felt like almost a religious experience for me, a theatre student, standing in The Globe.

The production itself was quite interesting as well, done as bloodily and harsh as Titus should be done. We were standing feet from the stage (for three hours- groundling tickets are fantastic because they were five pounds but just means you are standing the whole time), and with this production things happened on the ground with you. Actors would shove you out of their way trying to make a speech or get to the stage. Loads of fun.

- - -

Saw all the places you're supposed to see.



This place. Not that we really understood what was going on but there was marching and some horses and the whole thing felt very British.



I'd always thought the London Parliament looked sort of like the Canadian one, and I guess it does, in a way, but the detail work outshines anything I've seen in Ottawa - although now I suppose I'll look more closely next time I'm there.



And another important personal pilgrimage place. Baker Street!



- - -

Also spent only an hour (!) in the National Gallery, something that pained me. I, being someone who could spend hours in an art gallery, was with non-museum people and we had quite a list of things to do that day, so I respected our timeline. But still! Bit of a tragedy, really.

Ah well, next time, I suppose.

I did get to spend a couple hours by myself in the Tower of London, which is how I love museums. Myself and the stories of the past.

- - -

What else? Um, we rode the Tube a lot, which I rather enjoyed. It was just so efficient and colourful.

Something else we noticed was that everything was very expensive, which I suppose just comes with the city. However, after paying for my meager fish and chips lunch with money that would have sustained me for three days in Morocco, I winced. I'm going to glad to be home when I don't have to do mental math gymnastics every time I buy something.

- - -

I did enjoy London, but I was glad to leave. It stressed me out. But I look forward to returning, when I can have time and the money to appreciate the city.

The nine hour bus ride up north to Glasgow I kept trying to guess when we passed the border into Scotland. I didn't see a sign, but suddenly I looked up from my book and there were green rolling hills and sheep and I was pretty sure I was there.

reflections on goodbye

Our cabin is bare, and interestingly enough, looks smaller than ever.

The past few days have been a blur. Two days ago was the Alumni Ball and
final dance, the yesterday was the Re-entry Presentation. Today was
Convocation and the final Pre-Port.

- - -

I don't like long good-byes. I have no patience for them, so today has
been a long day. Tomorrow will be even more so. I'm not stressing over
whether I say good-bye to everyone I care about. I do genuinely care
about them but... I'm just so bad at saying good-bye.

It's goodbye, in a way. I'm traveling with a couple friends in London
and have plans to meet up with a couple more. It is unusual to think
that when we get off the ship, it is for the last time. There is no
embarkation time, no new adventure, there is no next country.

Except there is. There is tomorrow, and the day after that.

Just because I'm not arriving in a new foreign land every week or so
once I return home, it certainly doesn't mean I don't have to take the
exact same approach to every day of my life as I did to every day in SAS.

Every day. Every day can be exciting. There is so much to look forward to.

- - -

My eyes feel older.

Like my soul, my essence, has been broken and reformed in so many ways
that I'm not quite sure how it goes back together again. And maybe that
new puzzle shape isn't the incorrect one.

I feel like a disclaimer is necessary: everyone who will be a part of my
life post-SAS will, I think, inevitably learn how important this
experience was to my life. Whether you hear one story or them all, I
cannot be the same person I was when I left for you, nor is there any
point in trying to be.

Not only because I shaved off all my hair, or because I have so many
stamps in my passport, but because I have left and I have returned, and
I will likely do so again.


- - -

I have no idea of how frequently I will be able to blog once I get off
the ship. Hopefully every country or so, but we'll see. Currently the
plan is London until May 7th-ish, Glasgow until the 12th, fly out of
Edinburgh on the 13th to Madrid, home on the 31st. We'll see.

For everyone whose emails I have ignored the past few days, I will get
to them, I promise.

- - -

Thank you to everyone who has read this blog thus far. If you've taken
the time to do so, I feel like when I get home I can look into your eyes
and know that you, in a way, were with me the whole way.

Thank you. Thank you.

Happy Birthday Dad!

It's a little late in the day (at least for me) but here we are.



Dad, you have given me the world, literally and figuratively, and you have no idea how grateful I am. I hope everyday of my life that I make you proud. I cannot wait to get back and give you the biggest hug.

and then we went surfing in Morocco

Our final port was everything I could have wanted. Here's the end, having not showered in four days and covered in salt.



- - -



There's little to do in Casablanca, we learned, other than see the Hassan II Mosque, so we left quickly.



It was beautiful though.

- - -

Let's not talk about the amount of mint tea and pastries I consumed in Morocco. The last morning I ate five croissant chocolate swirl things the size of my fist and half a dozen glasses of tea. And the amount of bread, oh my gosh. And the tagine and couscous. Did I mention the tea? I've always liked sweeter tea and so this felt like something I'd been waiting for my entire life. So, yes, the food.



I traveled with an eclectic bunch. We giggled our way through the Arab world. My two friends, Lulu and Hallie, had their hair braided in Ghana, known as "Rasta braids". We couldn't step outside our hostel without hearing "Hey, Rasta woman!", "Sister of Bob Marley!", "Rasta pasta!". It was amusing at the beginning and teeth-gritting at the end.



I, thankfully, was ignored the majority of the time. I credit this to my short hair and cargo pants yet again. There were multiple incidents in Morocco where again my gender was ambiguous enough to cause confusion. I certainly didn't do anything to stop this, and if it meant I wasn't harassed in the streets, all the better.

- - -

Marrakech was like a fairy tale. A smelly, loud fairy tale. Wandering the streets of the medina was unlike anything we have experienced yet. I don't think any picture could capture what it felt like to get lost in those cobbled streets. You learn to glance over your shoulder when you hear the clip-clop of donkey or the drone of a motorcycle.



We stayed in a crazy-awesome hostel, which we stumbled into the first day without having made a reservation. They were gracious enough to welcome us in and give us beds the first night, and couches on the rooftop the next night. We watched Aladdin that night and looked at the stars and everything felt unreal.

Our afternoons and evenings were spent wandering the medina or in the Jamaa El Fena square, another place that felt surreal.



I don't think any of my pictures really captured it.




- - -

Purr. Meow.



There were a lot of cats in Marrakech.

- - -

And now, how we went surfing in Morocco.

The original plan had been to make our way to Essouria after Marrakech, but after doing our research we realized there was no reliable way to get back to Casablanca from Essouria with time enough to get to the ship. We tossed around a dozen ideas before deciding to train to Rabat. On the train we met an American woman who has been teaching abroad since she was our age, now currently working in Munich, and her German boyfriend. I wouldn't mind having her life in a couple years. We talked to them for three hours, before they got off in Casablanca and we realized we hadn't even learned their names. They did tell us, however, to see the beach and cemetery and the surfers who walk through the cemetery.

We arrived in Rabat, hungry and tired, and found our way to the Medina. We ate and were entertained by a bunch of young boys who thought it was fun to play the air-violin and sing for the foreigners.

Wandered down to the ocean (trying to find the beach but instead found a bunch of black, harsh cliffs) to watch the sunset, realizing we had no idea what we were doing next. We ate the last of our chocolate-covered Oreos and watched for the green flash, laughing about the fact we had no idea where we were staying that night. At one point Hallie turned to me and said, "When you have no idea what's happening next, it really makes you appreciate what's happening now." I was struck by how incredibly profound that was, not just for our current situation but for the future.

Realizing we would soon be stuck in an unfamiliar city in the evening, we found an internet cafe and googled hostels. That led us to "Medina Surfing Association", and we showed up on their doorstep (after inevitably getting lost in the medina) exhausted and laughing. The young Moroccan surfers looked at us like we were insane, but gave us beds.



In the morning, they threw three wetsuits down on the table and asked if we were waiting for the waves to come to us.

We walked through the cemetery to the beach with our surfboards, just as the couple we met on the train described.



The water was chilly and the salt made me cry and spit every minute or so, but the sun came out and we were using muscles I had forgotten I had and everything was perfect for those few hours.

Hallie, who speaks beginner Arabic, was given a practical lesson in surfing Arabic during our lesson - the only thing I remember is that "moog" means "wave".



In the waves, I thought about watching my brother surf in California and had this odd sense of coming full circle. Oddly enough, I proved to be the best of the three of us, catching waves and standing up myself without any help.

The walk back to the hostel, and to the train station, was exhausting.

- - -

We didn't go to the desert, or the mountains, but I feel incredibly satisfied with my Moroccan experience. I look forward to going back.

- - -

I wrote my last test this morning, so I am officially done third year. Tonight is the Alumni Ball. Life on the ship is winding down, but the trip isn't over. I still have a couple weeks, a thought that is both exhausting and exciting. However, I keep thinking back to what Hallie said on the beach as we watched the sun go down.

I'll try to write once more before we disembark.

Ship Life, Denouement; or Happy Easter!

These past few days have been a whirlwind. Days on the ship used to drag on, now they fly by before I can register they happened. Two days until Morocco, our final port.

Tonight I finished one of my courses, tomorrow I will finish another. I have reached that "road block" point with school work, where I am 110% done with homework.

I've had multiple conversations with people today where we decided that although we will be sad to leave the ship, we are ready to move on. To move on to what's next, ready to not be constantly in a state of planning. I've said I will be incredibly grateful to be in the same place for more than a couple weeks- and realizing that next place will be Ontario Pioneer Camp makes me incredibly joyful.

But for now, as a study break for myself, I'll share some ship life moments that have brought me joy.

- - -

You can sign up for something on the ship called a bridge tour, where a crew member leads you to the bridge, normally off-limit to students.

I was geeking out, asking questions about how the ship works, what that button does, what if there were pirates, what does that button do, what do the flags mean, and how about that button? All the GPS systems and controls were fascinating. When we were up there the ship was on autopilot so the officers just joked with us.

One of my favourite things is that there is always one guy who stands at the front and looks out with binoculars. That's his job. He told us he's seen a lot of whales.



They also let us put on a Captain's hat.



- - -

You can purchase something on the ship called "fine dining", although a lot of students call it "fancy dinner". Normally its for if someone wants to celebrate a birthday or special occasion, but a group of my friends and I decided that even though we haven't celebrated a birthday on the ship, we still want to dress up fancy and drink champagne.



We giggled and put make-up on and took pictures and then stuffed ourselves on amazing food.

We toasted to "new Facebook friends".

- - -

The stress of finals week, on any campus, makes students act in strange ways, including on our own floating campus. We blew off a study session and instead had a silly photo shoot. At one point I was laughing so hard I was crying, curled up on the deck.



This is another in the series of boy band photos... refer back to Japan. We have plans to find Abbey Road in England.

- - -

The sunset was beautiful tonight. The sun reflected on the mirror in my cabin into my eyes, so I abandoned my work and headed up to the 7th deck. I listened to calming music and watching the large golden disk lower itself into the ocean.



This morning was also the sunrise Easter service. It was beautiful. I was reminded of God's grace and love like never before, and I think that's the first time I've teared up while receiving communion.

Somehow, the stress of everything else faded away with both the sunrise and sunset today.

- - -

At dinner today they put out Skippy peanut butter, and as soon as word got around students swarmed. We rarely get "good" peanut butter, so when it's offered, it's a big deal.

I ended up licking peanut butter off a spoon for an hour, like a peanut butter Popsicle, while a couple friends and I discussed our cats back home.

- - -

Wrote my final exam for my Religions of the World class. Our professor, as students began to hand in their papers, made a comment how in 25 years in teaching he's never enjoyed a class so much, and how he's very grateful for getting to know us. There was a collective "awww" before he shushed us and told us to keep writing.

I paused before writing my conclusion paragraph, not wanting to finish the course just yet.

- - -

It's night now. I'm exhausted, it's been a full day, and there's another one tomorrow.

the heat of the sun and the beat of the drum

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "a plan to prosper and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future and hope." - Jeremiah 29:11

I wrote this on my wrist for Ghana, and it was very, very true.

Christianity was everywhere in Ghana- in a very IN YOUR FACE way as well. The businesses on the side of the rod had names such as ""Jesus Saves Phone Repairs", "Thy Will Catering", and "Peace and Love Auto Parts". One night, Dawn and I followed music from our hotel and ended up at a midnight church service. It was one of the LOUDEST things I have ever heard. We danced for an hour or so and then left when we started falling asleep during the sermon. We were told it would go until 4 AM.

- - -

Ghana was another country that was so incredibly hot that you, with every drop of sweat, felt incredibly grateful for being alive.

On the third morning we visited Cape Coast Castle, which was one of the main places where African slaves were shipped out to the Americas. We saw the governors room, with an incredible ocean and beach view, and then the condemned cells, a windowless room where disobedient slaves were locked until they died.



The Door of No Return, called so because slaves would pass through here to boats to the ships, and many never returned home. Our guide, a fantastic storyteller, told us that normally Door of Return is printed on the outside but had been removed because of recent storms, and it symbolizes the ability of wronged people to return to their homeland.

This felt like an important place to visit.



- - -

My brother and I, in my opinion, have never been overly mischievous children. In fact, it was once said that we "fight politely". Regardless, when we were young enough to have a babysitter, it was often a young friend of the family. Also named Rebecca, and known as 'Big Becca', she is actually only four years older than me, but as a child that felt like an enormous difference.

We figured it had been about 10 years since we had last seen each other when I met her on a beach in a fishing village.



I left Cape Coast in the early afternoon, and an uneventful two hour cab later I was in Busua, a place infamous for its surfing. I knew I had to get to Butre, the next village over, but I was unsure how to do that. I went to the fancy beach resort that I was dropped off by (primarily to use their nice bathroom... one of my favourite travel things, visiting fancy places to use their bathroom then leave) and asked if I could walk to Butre. They were like, "Oh, no, it's too far and highly discouraged, very unsafe". I didn't feel like finding and negotiating for yet another taxi just then, so I decided to visit Busua Black Star Surf School, founded by the guy who basically introduced surfing to Ghana.

I was immediately approached by the friendly owners, and a volunteer there (a young girl from the UK there for a month on her gap year, teaching lessons part time and surfing the rest of the time, I'm still in awe of her sense of adventure). I talked about my uncle who loves surfing and my brother who is far better than me at surfing. When I came around to mentioning I was looking for a friend, as soon as I said, "Rebecca", they both said, "Oh yeah, the ginger!". And when I asked if I could walk to Butre the answer was "Yeah, of course".

Beach, path, road, up a hill, down a hill, Butre. Those were my directions. I asked a couple fishermen to help me find the path.

The moment I crested the hill, I saw Butre spread out before me, a castle on a hill, and the turquoise ocean. The sense of accomplishment and wonder took my breath away. I stood there and realized why people fall in love with travel. I would do anything for that feeling again.

I was the only white person walking through Butre, and people would smile and wave and say "hello" but not approach me (although a teenage girl did tell me she liked my hair), until I met Francis. He had a similar reaction as the surf shop folk when I mentioned Rebecca, and the feeling of getting closer and closer to her was wonderful. He crossed with me over this bridge, then pointed me in the direction of Hideout Lodge.



The guidebook really didn't do justice to this beautiful little resort on the side of beach, with an eclectic mix of tree houses and bungalows.



I ordered dinner and got to know a staff worker named Isaac before Rebecca arrived in a taxi. I was afraid I wouldn't recognize her, but I did. We spent hours talking of Bancroft, our families, traveling, and it was incredibly insightful to hear about the realities of working for a non-profit overseas from someone I really respect.

When I started shaking and ran a fever it was like she was my babysitter again. I moved from my treehouse to a bungalow with a bathroom and slept fitfully but knowing that help was just a short walk away if I felt worse. Looking back, it was likely heat exhaustion- I had little water throughout the morning and then the hike to Butre was in the hot sun, and I only started
drinking water when I realized I was a little loopy.

The next morning I felt better and we spent the morning lounging and talking. Rebecca showed me the house she is building and designing with her boyfriend George (a lovely, hard-working man) on the beach.

We got a taxi to Takoradi, and on the way she showed me the village where Free the Children is working.

We said good bye just outside the port, laughing that the next time we might see each might be in Bancroft, but it could very well be Ghana again.

- - -



On my last in Ghana my Acting class participated in a drumming and dance workshop and I was reminded why I struggled in music class in middle school. The knuckles of my hands are still bruised.



The whole day wasn't a bust though, as Acting is a relatively small class and as a result we all rather enjoy each other's company. When we had a break we all headed straight for the ocean. Our lifestyle on ship and traveling somehow has resulted in never having an opportunity to run- to full out, head long run. We took a couple minutes during our break to do this.



And I found a beautiful sand dollar. I found an equally perfect sand dollar in California when we were down for my uncle's funeral but it didn't survive the journey back to Canada. I feel like I was given a second chance.

- - -

I understand the concept "weary traveler". I am very excited for Morocco (you can hear people playing the Aladdin soundtrack around the ship), but I am tired. I am tried of planning, researching places to stay and things to do, scams to watch for and neighborhoods to avoid. Being flung into the unknown is an adventure, but it also takes so much energy.

This could very well also be because in this next week of school I feel like I have 90% of my schoolwork for this semester. There's a lot to get done, and not a lot of time left.

it's ghana be good

In two days it will be Shelby's birthday. A member of Team Tokyo, and my
final acting partner for Acting class, she is one of the people on the
ship I am very thankful for having met. We celebrated her birthday today
because

Dawn and I had been working on a treasure hunt for her birthday - well,
I say Dawn and I, but really I just provided moral support and the
occasional sarcastic sounding board as Dawn masterminded this 10-clue
hunt that spanned the ship, inside jokes, and Shelby's personal history
before ending in a pizza party and cookies on the 7th deck.

It had begun to rain an hour or so before, and sitting on the 7th deck
felt hot and sticky (we did just pass the Equator after all) but the
rain was a welcome coolness. Someone suggested we dance in the rain, and
so we did, and then someone too seriously considered jumping in the pool
and soon I was leaping into the pool, holding my the folds of my dress
with one hand and glasses with the other.

Eight of us, full clothed, in the rain, in the pool, laughing.

I silently mourned the fact that I had just had the dress washed
(laundry is a luxury) and then celebrated the moment. The dress now
hangs in our bathroom and I suspect it will take days to dry.

A few minutes later we were changed and ate cake in the dining hall,
giving out the pieces we couldn't finish to other SAS students who
wandered by, would wish Shelby well, then tuck into the cake.

Just one of those un-capturable moments.

- - -

We arrive in Ghana tomorrow. I am incredibly excited for a port that I
have few plans for.

I never thought I would feel okay "winging it" in an African country,
but I'm with three girls who I know I will have a blast with. The
journey is the destination after all, right?

the middle of the world

A couple hours ago we passed a rather normal-looking patch of ocean,
where the Prime Meridian intersects with the Equator. There were rumors
about what we would see in this spot, and indeed there was an unassuming
red and white buoy, and the ship circled around it like a child
celebrating a victory, and the horn echoed (and we all clapped our hands
to our ears- that thing is LOUD).

I thought the buoy was a testament to the nature of human exploration,
that we feel the need to mark this ambiguous place that only exists in
human knowledge. In the middle of all this blue, here human achievement
is saying, "Look at this! We exist. We are here, even the middle of
nowhere."

I didn't have my camera, so you'll have to take my word for it.

alive at the end of the earth

I was really unsure about South Africa. As always, they scare us with numerous emails about safety in the places we visit, so much that we begin to think of a country as full of crime rate rather than people. I had some plans, not very solid, and every I was amazed how God had provided for me in ways I couldn't have expected.

- - -

Sunday

Forgive me the lack of photos, but take my story of a remarkably satisfying day.

I have a friend, Lulu, on the ship, who is from Zimbabwe but lived in Cape Town last summer and whose boyfriend and brother are currently there. For her, it was like going home, and she was more than gracious to invite a couple of us to hang out with her on Sunday. She was staying off the ship so we caught a taxi that morning, our driver really as unsure as we were about where we were going with our ambiguous directions. We were driving up a street when one girl recognized Lulu's boyfriend walking down the street- impressive, considering she had only seen a photo of him before. She rolled down the window and shouted his name. We laughingly introduced ourselves and he walked with us the block left to church.

It was a mainly student church, with some families and young couples, about 40 people in the morning service. Hearing our accents, many people approached us to ask where we were from, and then with knowing smiles as we introduced as "Lulu's friends from the ship". It felt so familiar and comforting that I teared up during worship - worship really unites Christians worldwide, I'm learning, there's nothing like singing the songs that are so important to me at camp while I'm halfway around the world.

We made our way to Lulu's brother's house, after a quick stop at a Pick n' Pay to pick up groceries. Splitting the bill and carrying the groceries down the street, I felt like I could live there. Just a typical student Sunday.

We had a 'brye', aka BBQ- sausage, buns, pineapple, potatoes, juice. I get hungry remembering it.

From there, two of our group went off to a concert, myself and another to Hillsong Church. For those not aware, Hillsong is a Pentacostal megachurch that grew out of Australia, largely based on the strength of their worship band. I knew there was one in Cape Town from my research pre-SAS, and wanted to go, mainly because a lot of worship I grew up with has come out of Hillsong. But I wasn't sure how to get there or if it was a good idea.

Rewind- Saturday. I volunteered for the Open Ship Tours, thinking it would be showing South African students around the ship. However, our group ended up being various people, no college students, with connections to SAS - past faculty, family of past students, past students. Including one young couple. The husband paused to read the "Religious Community" poster on a hallway during our tour, and so we got talking. He casually mentioned he and his wife (SAS alum) work for Hillsong.

Like I said, God provided.

He is from Holland, she's from America, both of them felt called to work in South Africa and met there. They had their wedding in Cape Town to force their families to visit. Their story was incredible, I wish i could have spent more time with them. When saying goodbye, he wrote down directions and told me to come to the 6:30 PM service.

When we arrived, he greeted me with a hug.

Hillsong is... an experience. The contrast between the student church in the morning, 40 people in a gymnasium, to the three storied theatre with lights and fog was incredible. It was fun, but I could never see myself calling it "my" church. It was like a concert, although we were told it was the evening service, the youth-centered service. The loud, the dancing, it was a lot.

Our cab ride home I was bubbling over with happiness. It was a full, delicious day.

- - -

If that was one day, you can understand why I don't describe every day blow-by-blow. We do so much in each day.



One day, I ignored everything I had ever read about safety, climbing up a mountain at dusk in the rain. Just as I about to insist we turn around, we met a local who saves rhinos and had two broken feet and offered to take us up to the top, as all the tourists and locals, were turning around before the top. We were in the middle of the clouds, alone and laughing.



Then the clouds began to glow as we descended slowly, and then the lights. The lights and stars, blending into one were worth the danger. It was indescribable.

That same night, Dawn and I tried to go out partying on the infamous Long Street before we realized with her being homeschooled and I being small-town Canada we couldn't figure it out. We sat in a classier version of McDonald's with our burgers before spotting friends across the street and dashing to them and proceeding to dance the night away.

- - -



I took the train to Simon's Town, which I think was quite possibly the most perfect places I have ever seen. We came for the penguins,



 but I fell in love with the water and mountains.



- - -



Then there was Table Mountain. It was the last day and I hadn't been up it yet and this felt unacceptable. I took a taxi there, determined to go, even if I had to do it by myself. I ran into two other SAS girls intent on the same thing. We got a little turned around halfway up but saw some incredible waterfalls, before finding the correct path.



We earned the view, and the food at the top.

- - -

I joke about having a "When I Come Back" list for each country, because our stays never see long enough. In South Africa it felt like a "When I Live Here" list. There's so much life.

I wrote for my India entry,

"I had this thought - if Burma asked me what I would die for, India reminded me that I will indeed die one day."

 To continue this thought, at the risk of being cliche, South Africa reminded me that for today, I am very much alive.

the island of dodos, sugar, and rain

I took this picture just as we pulled into port at Mauritius.



We had been told there was a chance of rain, but of course we were hopeful. With only eight hours in paradise, we had to be. This was our "Spring Break", our one day in paradise.

And then the rain started.

We were drenched before we left the port. Thick, heavy, warm monsoon rain that there was no avoiding. A damp taxi ride later, we arrived outside the Natural History Museum, my one must-do in Mauritius. Shabby and worn down, at least it was completely free and a place to escape from the rain, with the main attraction at the back.



A dodo bird skeleton! There was a partial one, as well as a complete one, I think the only one in existence; a whole room devoted to this dumpy, flightless bird that symbolizes the destruction powers of humanity and the island we were visiting for one day.

Dawn and I were originally planning on paragliding, but because of the rain and potential thunder and lightening this didn't happen. We spent most of our time on a public beach, where we consumed one of the best sandwiches I've ever had and a bottle of rum. In India you eat curry, in Japan sushi- in Mauritius you try the rum, even if you buy it at a convenience store and gag when trying to drink it straight. We were very careful about finishing it early enough so that it would be out of our systems before returning back to the ship.



We swam in the ocean, determined not to let the rain ruin our beach day. A damp bus ride later, we explored Port Louis before trudging back to the ship. It felt incredible to put on warm, dry clothes after being wet for eight hours.

- - -

Mauritius gave me a rash. I was itchy yesterday since we arrived on the ship, and I woke up this morning with red spots all over my body. A benadryl, a visit to the medical clinic, and a shot of steroids later, it has faded, but with the consequences of all the drugs in my body I basically slept sitting up through all my classes this morning.

We're heading towards South Africa, but there's a lot of planning to do, as well as a few essays to write.

endless

"The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever." - Jacques Yves Cousteau

how/why I shaved off all my hair

I can tell my perfect haircut because if I ever time-traveled back to medieval times, I could disguise myself as a boy. This has been my judge of when my hair is too long for the past seven or so years. Needless to say, it was time for a change.



Yesterday was Neptune Day, when we crossed the equator, a right of passage. My roommate and I woke early, and I felt like it was Christmas - I was ready to go, the anticipation was bubbling over. As I ate breakfast, a cacophony of drums drifted in from inside. The parade of King Neptune (my lovely astronomy professor painted green) and his royal court paraded around the ship before arriving on the pool deck.



My acting professor performed the script with an appropriate amount of gusto as he explained how we were to be put to the test, to be transformed from land-dwelling pollywogs into sea-loving emerald shellbacks. The heat, even in the early morning, was thick.

We waited, holding the sweaty hands of my friends (I had this realization of yes, my closest friends, as I stood with them). They were almost more excited than I was for my hair to be gone. We had "fish guts" dumped on our heads, leaped into the pool, kissed a fish and King Neptune's jeweled hand, and then were knighted as shellbacks, with full permission to pass through Neptune's domain.



Soaking wet and sweating, I went to stand in the mass of crowd that was the hair-shaving station, while they went to squeeze their way to the front to take pictures. Needless to say, I'm grateful they were willing to document this, for I had no desire to worry about my camera when the whole deck was wet and gross.



Eventually I made it to the front, and they began hacking away. I was handed a chunk of my hair and stared at the damp gold in my hands, allowing myself one final moment of appreciating the colour, then throwing it in the trash bin.



I wasn't overly nervous or scared as they pulled out the razor- in my mind my hair was already gone the moment I woke up that morning. It was just happening.



Then it was done. I stood up and the crowd cheered. There were a large number of boys who shaved their heads, but also a handful of girls. My friends and I pushed our way out of the crowd. Friends kept touching my head, I had people approach me to hug me, high-five me. My on-ship mom said I could be a nun.

The music was ear-splitting, the heat nearly unbearable, and the deck was soaking, but we danced in our bikinis and damp clothes and bare feet until they turned the music off and kicked everyone off the pool deck.



It wasn't even noon.

- - -

Some girls screamed as they shaved off their hair. I didn't. Maybe because I had already detached myself from my hair emotionally, and I had been thinking about this decision for a long time.

I had an argument with someone earlier in the voyage that hair could be considered a "material possession". I had this worry that I might depend on my short, burnt-gold hair for my identity. I thought, "What if I didn't have my hair? What if that familiar aspect of my identity was gone? Would I still appreciate what I look like?" My extended thought was, "If God took away something I truly loved, maybe my ability to walk or swim, who would I be then?" This just feels like a miniscule experiment in "If I changed everything about who I am, who am I?" In World Religions class, we talk about the part of the soul called atman in Eastern religions, the part of the soul that remains eternal, what makes it essentially that particular soul.

In just the short 24 hours I have been sans-hair, I have recieved many compliments. However, I have yet to see someone on the ship who I wouldn't pay the exact same compliment to. You can see bone structure, smiles become larger, the eyes become hugely prominent. It doesn't change who you are, just the focus.

People keep calling my decision "brave". I think it was an act of trust- trusting in God's creation of my beauty, and trusting in myself who remain strong in who I am, regardless of physical appearance.